Domino Institution
by x.Vivace
Summary: Between his abusive dad and his urges to break the law, Marik's life sucks. One day, he's caught stealing and is sentenced to community service at the local mental ward, where he meets Bakura, a boy who may be too much for him to handle. Thiefshipping.
1. Afterthought

**A/N: I was half asleep when I came up with this idea. I guess it sort of stuck…**

**Please excuse any OOC characters. To be honest, I've only seen the abridged series. But a friend (XxDragonEyexX) is helping me write this to make sure it's IC. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or any of it's characters.**

Marik Ishtar walked briskly toward the exit of the department store, so aware of the security guard standing by his only escape and even more aware of how the loaded backpack he was carrying would slow him down if it came to running. He evened out the features of his face, trying to look as casual as possible. But that was hard—even for him, when he was so used to it—given that he had stolen merchandise in his backpack. It was nothing major, like solid gold jewelry (even though that wasn't a bad idea, as he could pawn it). It was just dinner (a bag of chips and a can of soda) and a new shirt, for most of his clothes were torn and ragged, and he couldn't rely on his dad for things like that.

Marik glanced one more time at the guard, to make sure he wasn't looking (he wasn't) in his direction, and quickened his pace. He knew it was stupid and dangerous to act suspicious, but he couldn't help it. He really would have enjoyed getting caught, just for the exhilaration of the chase. After all, the teenage Egyptian had never been caught doing anything wrong. Not saying he hadn't stolen, cut school, vandalized the buildings of the town, beat up old ladies in the park (just kidding), or picked fights just because he felt like it before. He'd just never been stupid enough to get himself caught.

He took a deep breath. He didn't plan on changing that, either, no matter what he wanted. Needs came first, and he _needed s_omething to eat. He was approaching the security guard. His large muscles tensed, readying for flight.

And that's when he tripped. He didn't even know what he'd tripped over. Maybe it was karma finally coming back to kick him in the butt.

His backpack flew out of his hand, landing at the feet of the guard, all the while letting out a strange hissing sound. Marik spat out a curse, trying his best to stand up while staring, horrified, at the backpack.

"Oh!" The security guard seemed to finally have pulled his thumbs out of his butt long enough to notice something had gone amiss in his store. He reached down and picked up the backpack. It was leaking some sort of brown liquid.

The soda Marik had stealthily removed from a twenty-four pack back in aisle nine, no doubt.

The security guard unzipped the backpack, to Marik's complete terror, and removed the spewing soda, tossing it in a nearby trashcan. "You've got to be more careful, kid." He said, handing the soaked backpack to Marik.

He almost laughed at his dumb luck. _So much for karma. Maybe this guy's just stupid, _he thought. "Thanks, sir." He offered his very sweetest smile, taking the bag.

But, unfortunately for the Egyptian teen, his grip wasn't quite as tight as he'd thought, and the wet backpack raced to the floor, all of its contents displaying themselves for the guard.

Marik hadn't bothered to take the tags off the shirt. He would have enjoyed the chase the alarm would have triggered.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. The guard's gaze danced down to the stolen items, suddenly realizing that there was something wrong with the picture. But when he looked up again, Marik was gone, taking off into the parking lot. As soon as he saw it, he headed to his motorcycle (a sixteenth birthday gift from Ishizu, who had moved away from home a few years ago to live back in their homeland, Egypt) and hopped on, quickly starting it and driving off.

But in the words of a pessimist, you can't run from the law.

Eventually, he was stopped, blocked from both sides by two police cars. He scowled, as the driver's of the cars hopped out, telling him that they were armed. "Stand up slowly, and put your hands on the small of your back."

He smirked, doing as he was commanded. No point in running now. "Overkill, much?"

The drivers approached him. He recognized one as the guard from the store. A firm grimace messing up his already wrinkled face, he stood behind the other policeman. His gun was poised to shoot.

The policeman's face showed no humor, as to be expected. He rushed up to Marik, telling him his rights while roughly handcuffing him.

..

_Later that night, Odion Ishtar's apartment…_

It was ten P.M. when Odion got the call from Marik. At first, he'd cursed his cell phone for ringing on his bedside table, but, against the will of his body, he answered it.

He accepted the call, ignoring the crap the mechanized woman's voice spouted about collect calls and said. "Hullo?"

Just from the tone of his voice, Odion could tell Marik was smirking. _"Rise and shine, brother. The law finally caught up to me. Could you maybe…?"_

Odion sighed. Would Marik ever learn? "Alright. I'll go get Dad and come down there."

"_Thanks, man." _Marik hung up, not bothering with casual good-byes.

Odion found himself sighing again. Their old man was going to be a pain to convince to go all the way down to the Domino City Jail at ten at night just bail the son he never loved out of jail. Nevertheless, he would. Odion knew it. Especially if he didn't have to pay for it. Which he didn't. Odion had a load of money saved up in the bank just for this day, because he knew it would come. It was inevitable, with all the risks Marik took, no matter how sneaky he was.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and grabbed his car keys off of the kitchen counter. Prepared or not, it was going to be a long, and not to mention expensive, night.

..

_The same night, Domino City Jail…_

By the time his father and Odion got to the jail to bail him out, Marik had thought about what would happen to him when his dad got a hold of him. There would definitely be yelling, and more than likely a lot of violence.

Needless to say, he wasn't really looking forward to going home, but what choice did he have? It was either go home to get beat up, or stay in jail to get beat up _and_ raped.

He chose to go home.

When the police officer came to the holding cell, his father and Odion right behind him, Marik felt his stomach knot up. Father looked angrier than ever. His face was contorted into a glare from Hell, and there was a large vein throbbing in his neck.

He looked at Odion instead, who just looked worried and maybe a little bit sad. Or was that disappointment? Marik felt the blood drain from his face. It was definitely disappointment.

Suddenly, all worry for his own safety flew away, and Odion's eyes were the only thing he saw. It was a horrible feeling, when you let down your best friend. Especially one that was your half brother.

He was pulled out of his remorseful thoughts by the officer that had escorted them opening up the barred door and saying, "You're free to go. Stay outta trouble, kid."

Marik nodded at him, gratefully. Maybe…just maybe, he would take the policeman's advice.

..

After they'd been escorted out of the building, Odion led Marik and their father to where he'd parked his car. Apparently, Father had decided to ride with Odion to the jail, because he didn't feel like driving himself.

_Or maybe it was so he could beat the hell out of me on the way home _and _when we get there without worrying about getting into an accident, _Marik thought. _Yeah, probably._

Once they were safely on the road and out of the cameras range, the old man started his nightly routine of torturing Marik by physical and mental pain. And it was quite a reach for the old man to stretch, because Marik was in the backseat, and his father in the front passenger.

"You dumbass, how the hell could you be _stupid _enough to let this happen?" He yelled, punching Marik in the chest, knocking the wind out of him.

When Marik started gasping for air, even though none was coming, his dad laughed at him. "Does that hurt, kiddo? What about this?"

He closed his eyes as his very own father caught him on the chin with one powerful swing of his fist.

He continued beating the breathless Egyptian boy, insulting him shamelessly, for around ten more minutes, and then Odion intervened. He himself could remember the cruel hand of his father, beating the ever loving crap out of him on a daily basis, so he knew it was always better to just keep quiet and ignore it, to try to block out the pain rather than fighting back, because that would only prolong the beating, but this time…

He wasn't going to just watch. How could he, when his brother was in the backseat of his own car, whimpering while curled up in a ball? How could he when he was now nineteen years old, therefore more able to fight back against the old man?

He stopped the car. "Get out." He commanded his father.

"What the hell'd you just say to me, boy?" He turned on Odion.

He didn't give in to the scary glare, the raised fist, even though his mind was already screaming in anticipation for the blows that would soon fall upon him. "I said get out of my car. Now."

He felt the slap before it came, emitting a loud _smack _sound, like a million balloons popping at the same time. "Go!" He yelled, ignoring the pain in his swelling cheek.

The old man hit him again, this time getting his jaw with a powerful punch. He growled in anger. "Don't you dare speak to me like that, you bastard. You should be grateful to me for not kicking your ass out after Marik killed my wife!"

Marik let out a howl of rage, leaning forward enough to punch his dad in the nose. It cracked under his dominant touch. "I did not kill her! You're the one that knocked her up!" Marik knew he was lying to himself, but there was no way he was going to let his dad get away with blaming his sweet, beautiful mother's death on him.

His old man just stared at him in surprise. Marik had never fought back before. His face hardened into a glare, a low growl-like sound escaping his lips. "You're dead."

Marik flinched back, his eyes closed, half expecting his father to pounce on his chest and strangle him to death. But nothing came. In fact, when he opened his eyes, his father wasn't moving, his eyes half open, leaning against the door with his neck lolling to the side. There was blood leaking out of his right ear.

"Is he…is he dead?" Marik asked, seeing the smug smile on his brother's face.

"No. He's just knocked out." Odion explained. "I unbuckled while you were distracting him, and landed a kick on the side of his head. The force made his head fly backward and he hit it on the window. I think I blew out an ear drum…"

Marik, in spite of himself, laughed. "So, what do we do with him?"

Odion bit his lip, buckling his seat belt. "I suppose we take him home. You're house is only a few more minutes away, so we should be able to just drop him off in the floor and then go back to my apartment."

And they did. Marik stayed with Odion for the next two weeks, waiting for their dad to cool down before he went home.

…

_A month later, in the Domino City Courthouse…_

"I've heard enough." Said the judge, formally folding her hands on the tabletop in front of her. "I sentence you to sixty-nine hours of community service at the Domino Institution, Mr. Marik Ishtar. You will work for eight weeks, two hours after school on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and for six hours every Saturday. Case dismissed."

Marik scowled. He had track practice on Monday and Wednesday, and meets on Thursday. Either this judge was bad at choosing random days, or she was out to ruin his life. Track was his favorite thing in the world. When he was running, he wasn't concentrating on his troubled home life, or if he'd have food for dinner that night…he was concentrating on making his opponent choke on his dust as he flew across the asphalt faster than anyone else could even attempt.

But now, he would be forced to quit the team so he could hang out with the loony's. Ugh, could his life get any worse?

That night, he went home with his dad instead of Odion.

And he decided, yes, his life could get much, much worse.

…

**A/N: I just have to say that it turned out a lot more dramatic than I thought it would. And a lot longer…**

**Bakura will come in in the next chapter.**


	2. The Tainted Glare

**A/N: I am going to include a lot of Marik's home and school life, as well as his time at the Institution. And I'll write a lot about Bakura's childhood and how he got into the Institution.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or any of its characters.**

Marik scowled at the dry erase board, tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk. What was it about math class that always made him want to stick a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger?

Maybe it was the way his teacher sounded like an android, in both tone and the numbers and strange terms she spouted.

Maybe it was the kids sitting behind him, throwing spitballs in his hair.

Maybe it was the way the numbers on the board all seemed to group up into one immense monster, glaring down at him, challenging him, even though he knew if they were to face off, the monster would win.

He closed his eyes, taking a mass of his own light blonde hair in each fist and pulling. He felt another round of spit balls tangle themselves into his locks. His mind raced as boredom turned into anger. What was with these kids, anyway? Couldn't they take their frustrations out on a fluffed pillow like most people? Why did they have to pick on him, as if he needed more to deal with?

Marik shook the wads of paper out of his hair, being sure to sling some back their way. He wasn't going to just sit there and take it, even after the principal's threat to expel him if he got in just one more once of trouble. Really, that was the only reason they weren't on the floor bleeding and moaning in pain as Marik—

The end bell rang, a shrill sound that sang joyful tunes of freedom at long last to the Egyptian. He stood up, throwing his backpack over one shoulder and rushing out of the room.

Math was his last class of the day, which Marik sometimes considered a drag. That meant there was basically nothing to look forward to at the end of the day, because all of his favorite classes (physical education, world cultures…lunch) were before noon.

And…today was Thursday, which meant he had to go to the Domino Institution. This would be his first day, as his trial had been yesterday. It was weird, how Marik had despised the idea at first, but after a night of consideration, he wasn't really sure how he felt about it.

Really, it couldn't be _too _bad…except that he was missing a track meet. Other than that, he might actually have fun.

Marik climbed on his motorcycle starting it and revving the engine immediately. The Domino Institution wasn't very far from his school. In fact, it was only a twenty minute drive, if you went just a few miles over the speed limit.

Which he always did.

..

_Outside the Domino Institution, that same afternoon…_

After a rather boring drive (in Marik's opinion. He'd actually caused quite a stir, by almost starting three car wrecks), he parked his bike as close to the institution as possible. Before he entered, he decided to inspect the outside of the building. He needed to learn the perimeter, if he was going to have to come here for two more months.

It wasn't really a big building. Actually, Marik decided, eyeing the old, chipped brick walls, it probably didn't hold many patients. It was located on the edge of town, so there weren't really a lot of other buildings around. Half the property was a large, grassy field behind the building, he noted. It was fenced in. Probably where they let the occupants roam for a while, as required by law.

As he finished circling the building, he studied the outside wall. It was broken occasionally by windows, each not much bigger than one of the bricks that made up the wall. They all had bars on them, as if it mattered. No one was small enough to get through one of those windows.

His eyes followed the line of dark windows, hypnotized. It was so hypnotizing.

Whoa.

He blinked. Once, twice.

There was a set of dark brown eyes in the very last window, glaring at him. _They look evil_, he thought. But as he approached the building, headed straight for that window, they disappeared.

He blinked. Once, twice, three times.

Whoever that person was, Marik decided, they were in great pain. He could tell just by that _glare_. It had been tainted with hatred, with a certain _sting_. Loneliness. Despair.

Marik shook his head dismissively. He'd only been here for a few minutes, and the craziness was already infecting his mind, too.

He ran back to the entrance, deciding the erase the scene from a few moments ago out of his mind. He opened the heavy glass door that led into the building (which was bigger than he'd thought) and looked around the room.

It was dark. The only light source was a few lines of sunlight squeezing through closed blinds on four windows. There were a few chairs and two tables lined up against the wall, like a waiting room of sorts. A magazine-and-book-littered coffee table sat in the middle of the room, much to Marik's distaste. He'd always thought that putting tables in the middle of a room was not only tacky, but it usually got in the way.

Abandoning his thoughts, he eyed the only door (aside from the entrance) in the room. That had to lead to something. So he walked to it, twisting the handle and pulling it open.

Compared to the other room, this one was bright. In fact, the lighting difference was so dramatic, Marik raised an arm to shield his eyes. "Hello?" He said, squinting into the room.

He jumped when he heard a voice. "Ah, you must be the new, um, _volunteer_."

"Uh, yeah." Marik opened his eyes and let his arm fall to his hip. He then realized why he had been blinded. He was in a long hallway, and everything was white. Everything, the doors the walls, the tile, the lights—Even the man, the one that had spoken to him—was dressed in a clean white jacket, over crisp white scrubs. "Wow. This place is very…flashy."

The man laughed. His tanned face was already creased with laugh lines, and his long brown (with a few gray streaks, here and there) hair was pulled back into a pony tail. "I'm Doctor Julius More, but most people just call me Doc." He held out a hand for Marik to shake.

He nodded, taking the elder man's hand in his own. "I'm Marik."

"Welcome, son. Let me show you around." Doc chuckled, pulling his hand out of Marik's grasp. "Here, we really just house some of the…harder cases. Like, the girl in this room."

He stopped at the first door in the hall. "She has an extreme panic disorder…always collapsing out of nowhere, usually caused by hallucinations or nothing at all. She just needs the slightest provocation, and she's out, convulsing on the floor."

Marik nodded, staring at the nameplate on the door. It read: _Tea Gardner_.

He moved to the next door—_Tristan Taylor_. "This man has pyromania. Seriously, give him a toothpick and teaspoon of spit, and he could probably burn this whole place down. Be very careful around him."

Marik nodded, not bothering to point out the impossibility in starting a fire with spit. He followed Doc a few steps down the hall to the next door—_Seto Kaiba._

"He's one of those angst-driven teenagers, bent on killing himself. So we took away his shoelaces and locked him in this here padded room." He tapped a knuckle lightly on the door.

Marik scowled. Suicide…what a disgraceful, boring way to die. He would never show such weakness, no matter how bad his life could be. There were always things to look forward to, in his opinion. He just needed to find them, and set his mind on them.

The next door was "_Joey Wheeler, _a kid who had an intense fear of people." After that was "_Yugi Moto, _a boy with multiple personalities." Then, "_Keith Howard, _who had an intense paranoia."

"Only six patients?" Marik asked. Doc had stopped walking after "_Mai Valentine, _with schizophrenia". "And aren't there any other workers here?"

Doc laughed, which ticked Marik off. Was he really so amusing, that this _doctor_ had to laugh at everything he said?

"There's actually one more patient, but you don't need to worry about him. He…requires professionals." Doc shook a strand of hair out of his face. "And, son, there are actually quite a few workers here. They're just busy. We've recently had an accident with one of our late patients."

"'Late'?" Marik raised an eyebrow. Late meant dead, right? How could they have an accident with a dead person?

Doc nodded. "Yes, a man with synesthesia**(1)**…well, he killed himself. He…he stuffed toilet paper down his throat and suffocated**(2)**."

Marik stared, unblinking, at Doc. He couldn't have been serious. After a moment of silence, and searching the doctor's eyes, Marik decided that he wasn't kidding. But instead of questioning on how they didn't notice that he was eating toilet paper, he changed the subject.

"You said there was another patient."

"And I also said to leave him to the professionals, son." Doc winked at him, letting out a none-too-subtle chuckle. "Oh, and I'd like to let you know that this isn't going to be an easy job. I'm going to need your help with a lot of things, especially after that accident. We're going to need as much help as we can get." He paused, smirking. "But don't worry—you'll just be doing most of the grunt work, like distributing dinner. I won't make you bathe some of our...needier patients, or anything like that."

Marik wanted to sigh, to scowl and walk out of the building, but he maintained his composure, leaning against the wall with crossed arms and a nod here and there.

"You're first job for today, son, will be sweeping up. Our last maintenance worker quit three days ago after having to clean up after our social phobic **(3) **because he crapped himself when a nurse smiled at him." Doc chortled at the memory. "It's getting dusty 'round here, and now that we have extra help, guess who gets to play janitor?"

Marik scowled, unable to hold it in. "Fine. Where are the cleaning supplies?"

"Cleaning supplies?" Doc put on a confused expression. At Marik's horrified face, he laughed. "I'm just joshin' you, son. Here, I'll show you where they are."

Doc turned and walked back down the hall in the direction they came. Before Marik followed, though, he glanced at the only other door in the hall with a nameplate that Doc hadn't addressed. It said, _Bakura._ No last name. Just _Bakura_. He didn't let his eyes linger long, before turning and running to catch up to Doc.

While he was sweeping the halls clean of the previous few days of dirt, he couldn't help but wonder, _who is Bakura?_

..

The next thing he had to do was bring dinner to the patients. It was an easy task, as Doc had warned him how to act around each of them to make sure they stayed calm. He'd handed Marik a key, saying it unlocked all of the rooms.

So Marik walked down the bright, white hall, pushing a metal cart that held six (yes, only six, not seven, much to his dismay) trays of applesauce, cheese grits and milk.

The first few people were boring, just staring at random things or out the window distantly.

His job started getting interesting around Joey, the one Doc had said was afraid of other people. He was interesting, to say the least. He was a boy around Marik's age, sixteen. He looked pretty normal, aside from how his right eye kept twitching. Oh, and he'd screamed when Marik walked in. Just screamed, and Marik had almost dropped the food tray because he'd been so startled. He'd forced himself not to yell back, because Doc had warned him not to even _look _at this guy, and talking to him would be like throwing rubber on a fire and inhaling the toxic fumes.

Yugi was second to last. He was the boy with multiple personalities. He greeted Marik quite cheerfully, and Marik just smiled back and said hello. But right when he was about to turn to leave…The young boy repeated, "Hi there!"

Marik furrowed his brow in confusion. "Er, hi. Didn't we already…?"

Yugi frowned. "No. Why are you here anyway?"

And then Marik remembered. Multiple personalities. Right. So he didn't remember already greeting him? "I'm just bringing you some food." He pointed to where he'd sat the tray on the foot of his bed, since there were no tables in the room.

Yugi's face lit up. "Yum!"

Marik nodded in dismissal, turning again to leave.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Yugi's voice chimed again.

This continued for a good ten minutes, before Marik lost his patience and just left.

The last one was Keith, the man with an extreme case of paranoia. When Marik came in, Keith just stared at him in fear.

"Hi, Keith." Marik said, setting the tray in his lap.

"How do you know my name?" He replied, doing his best to back away from Marik. It didn't do much good, since he was sitting in a bed.

"It's on the door."

"Damn it! I told them to take that down!" He chewed his finger nail nervously, glancing at the door.

"Night." Marik said, leaving the room and closing the door quietly. Doc had told him to ignore Keith's crazy banter, and just move on with life, because if you argued, he'd get angry. And no one wants an angry Keith Howard. He'd shivered as he said this, as if from a memory.

The first thing that caught his eye when he left Keith's room was the shiny, golden nameplate that said _Bakura. _

"I wonder, what lies beyond that door?" He said aloud, walking slowly, as if in a trance, towards it. He ran his hand down the smoothly painted hardwood, pausing just before his palm collided with the doorknob. He let his hand linger there, hesitating. All he had to do was unlock the door…and then he could satisfy his burning curiosity.

_Just unlock it, _he thought. _Just reach in your pocket…pull out the key… jam it in the knob…turn it…open the door. It's not a hard task._

"Then why can't I do it?" He questioned his own mind.

_Fear. I'm afraid of what's behind this door, _he realized after a moment of deep thought. Why was he afraid? This Bakura couldn't be that bad.

He scowled, reaching in his pocket for the keys. "Besides, Marik Ishtar is _no _coward."

He did as his mind commanded, unlocking the door.

He pushed it open, the smallest crack, and peeked inside.

His own eyes met a pair of dark brown orbs, a glare he recognized, as the image of those same eyes watching him through a window, looking hateful, yet lonely at the same time, was burned into his mind.

**A/N: **

**1: A disorder that allows you to see sound in colors. Most people that have it end up going insane and killing themselves. Although I think it sounds kind of cool, honestly.**

**2: I imagined this as Mako Tsunami. I could totally see him eating toilet paper…**

**3: That's Joey, by the way.**

**Thanks for reading. You should really review. I appreciate them greatly!**


	3. Sleepless Night

**A/N: I'm not happy at all with how this chapter turned out, especially the first part…**

**This mainly accentuates the relationship between Odion and Marik. **

Bakura's room wasn't much different than the other rooms. It had the same small, uselessly barred window, the same twin-sized bed, with the same white sheets. The walls were painted eggshell. The lights were just a bit too bright for Marik's taste.

The only difference was the cold aura, like the feeling of a bloody knife running along Marik's bare skin, threatening to pierce his tanned flesh.

There was a silence between the two teens. Bakura held a firm glare that clearly stated how he felt about Marik's intrusion into his space. Marik just stared, mouth ajar, back at the pale boy that didn't really look like he belonged in an institution, much less like he should be branded as dangerous.

"What?" Bakura said, a top corner of his mouth raised in disgust, as if Marik were a pile of smelly, moldy trash.

Marik crossed his arms. "Just visiting." He muttered, examining the boy in front of him. He looked to be just a bit older than Marik, with a mess of white hair that had been neglected for a while, a skinny frame, clothed in a tan straight jacket with brown straps that pinned his long arms to his chest and a pair of light blue jeans. He was wearing a pair of white socks, and no shoes. Tangled in a mass of clean white sheets on his bed, he was turned at an awkward angle to stare at his trespasser.

But what intrigued Marik the most were his eyes—two dark chocolate orbs, with an intense, intelligent mist.

He knew those eyes as the pair he'd seen from outside, not two hours ago.

"Hey, you're the one that was watching me." Marik uncrossed his arms, approaching the boy named Bakura.

"Stay away from me." He scowled at Marik, turning to look out the window. "I don't want company."

_Huh? _Marik stopped in his tracks, obeying Bakura. _Why doesn't he want friends? He must be lonely, spending all his time alone in this room. _

"But Bakura—"

"I said leave." He said, not bothering to look at him. "Now."

Marik frowned, not turning to leave. He decided to change the conversation. "My name's Marik. I just thought you might want some company."

"Liar. You came in here because you couldn't contain your curiosity about the infamous Bakura. You new workers are all the same. Doc tells you to stay out, but you come in anyway. Just…leave. Now." In Bakura's (true, Marik hated to admit) statement was hidden a holier-than-thou tone that groped Marik's nerves.

Nevertheless, he smiled. This Bakura was acting tough, he could tell. Inside, he was probably some lonely young boy, just annoyed at getting so much negative attention, bitter at the world because of his experiences at the Institute.

At the time, Marik had no idea how wrong he was.

So he said, "Goodbye, Bakura. I'll see you later, alright?"

"No, that's not alright." Bakura growled at him.

Marik pretended not to hear him, leaving the room to go home.

..

_The next afternoon, directly after school, Odion's apartment…_

Marik dug in his shoe, searching for the shiny silver key Odion had given him the day he'd moved into this apartment complex. Odion had wanted to make sure that his half brother**(1) **knew he was welcome over at any time, so he'd given him a key to unlock his apartment.

Odion was at work, but Marik was pretty sure he got off around three-thirty, so he'd be home soon.

So the young Egyptian waited on his brother's couch, helping himself to a ham and cheese sandwich and a bottle of vodka he'd found in the freezer. Odion probably wouldn't mind.

After a few minutes, he'd finished the sandwich and turned on the television, taking occasional sips of his drink.

Eventually, he heard the door open and Odion step into the apartment. "Marik?" He called, before he'd even seen the blonde boy.

"Yeah? How'd you know I was here?"

Odion walked into the small TV room (well, it had been built to be a dining room, but Odion much preferred eating on the couch, in front of the TV, since he rarely had company that wasn't Marik) and sat down on the couch beside his brother. "The motorcycle."

Marik nodded, taking a sip of the vodka, his eyes glued on the television. It was the news, so Marik wasn't really interested, but the woman that was talking was really pretty, and that automatically made him look. He'd seen a lot of pretty women in his life, but for some reason he'd never been one to drool over them, like most guys his age. He'd always stared at them, trying to find out what was so interesting, but he never seemed to find anything that he particularly liked.

"You better not be an idiot with that, Marik." Odion commented on the glass of alcohol in his younger brother's hand.

Marik nodded nonchalantly. It wasn't like he'd never had alcohol before. And he knew the risks from watching his own father.

"Just know what you're getting into."

Marik grinned at him, finally pulling his eyes away from the reporter's breasts. "Yeah, Odion. I understand." He took a sip, then offered the bottle to Odion. "Want some?"

He held up his hands in response. "It's only four."

Marik laughed, turning his gaze back to the woman on the screen.

Odion sighed. "So how did it go yesterday?"

"The Institute? It was actually pretty fun." He said, smirking.

"Fun? What happened?" Odion raised an eyebrow. After the trial, Marik had seemed a bit depressed that he'd be missing his track practices and meets.

"Well, first I met this man, named Doc. I thought he was weird at first, but he's actually pretty cool. Still weird, but cool…" Marik explained how the two hours had played out, ending in his odd (that's an understatement) meeting with the forbidden patient, Bakura.

"Oh, you were only there for a couple of hours, and you've already found a way to break the man's only rule." Odion laughed. "That's not surprising."

Marik chuckled. "And I'm probably going to break it again tomorrow. There's something about Bakura that intrigues me, brother…"

Odion observed his brother, who was smiling distantly into the bottle of vodka. He watched him for a minute, before saying, "So you're okay with working there now?"

Marik nodded once. "I'll live."

He moved to take another sip of the vodka, but Odion put his hand over the top of the bottle. "You've had enough of that, Marik."

He frowned. Odion was probably right, but that didn't stop him from wanting more. Odion took the bottle from his grasp, and got up to put it back in the freezer. Marik followed him, not wanting to be left alone in the TV room again. He was tired of looking at that woman.

"Hey, Odion?"

"Yes?" Odion pulled the freezer door open, setting the vodka on the top shelf.

"Why don't you have a girlfriend?" Maybe it was the alcohol kicking in, or maybe it was how he couldn't seem to get _himself_ interested in the female body, but Marik was genuinely curious. He'd known Odion since the day he was born, and as far as he knew, his brother had never had a girlfriend.

Odion froze, letting the freezer door hide his blushing face. "I don't have time for things like that, Marik."

Marik smirked playfully. "Or is it that you can't get a girl to go out with you?"

Odion chuckled, closing the freezer. "That might be part of it. And you're one to talk, since last time I heard, you were single, too."

Marik shrugged. There was a short silence.

"Why are you here, brother?" He asked. "I know you didn't come just to ask me about my personal status."

Marik frowned. "I'm not sure. I guess I didn't want to go home. Dad was angry last night, more so than usual."

"Why?"

Marik shrugged. "I don't know. I think he ran out of cigarettes again."

Odion scowled. He remembered what those days were like form when he used to be the live punching bag of the Ishtar household. He felt guilty for leaving, and letting Marik assume that position, but there wasn't much he could do about it. The old man had kicked him out on his eighteenth birthday, no good-bye or kiss my ass or anything. Now he was a twenty-year-old man living alone in a small apartment, and working extra shifts at the local Starbucks.

"You want to stay here tonight?" Odion offered.

Marik smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

..

_Later that night…_

Marik stripped down to his boxers, throwing his school uniform in the wash so it would be clean by morning, when he had to go back to the Institute for his Saturday shift. It wasn't like he could go home (his dad might see him) and get something else to wear, no matter how much he longed for his favorite jeans that were faded and holed at the knees and frayed at the bottom, or how much he wished he could slip into his white shirt that revealed his stomach when he lifted his arms, and cut off sleeves that showed off his muscular arms.

He always slept on the couch when he stayed with Odion, because his small apartment only had one bedroom. Marik didn't mind, though. He always watched TV late into the night, and eventually fell asleep to the comforting sounds it offered.

Tonight was different, though. He stayed up all night, flipping through channels and occasionally looking out the window to see the sun slowly rising.

At around five o'clock in the morning, he completely gave up on sleep and got up. He didn't get a chance to put his clothes back on before his stomach started growling, begging for some nutrients. He sighed, hitting himself in the abs as punishment for being hungry. He didn't really feel like making anything to eat, but Odion probably wouldn't be up for a while to cook for him…

So he went to the kitchen and got to work.

He broke two eggs over the heated skillet, smirking at the satisfying sizzle that told him they were cooking. He dug through the freezer for some premade biscuits, and spread four of them on a little silver pan. He stuck it in the oven, and moved back to the eggs. He used a fork to see if the bottom was cooked, sprinkled some salt and pepper over them, popped the squishy, yellow yolk, and flipped them over.

It smelled delicious, he decided, while searching the refrigerator for bacon. Finding nothing, he chose the next best thing: Spam. Sure, it wasn't actually a breakfast food, but he didn't think Odion would care. If he didn't like it, he wouldn't have bought it.

After he'd dumped the eggs on two separate glass plates, he put the spam on. The smell of heated pork wafted through the house, and soon lured Odion into the kitchen.

"That smells great!" He exclaimed, grinning at the stove.

"Good. I've bee—" He yawned noisily. "—been up all morning cooking."

"How long have you been up?" Odion walked over to the hot stove, flipping the spam with the fork Marik had left on the counter.

"All night. Couldn't sleep." He replied, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

Odion sent him a worried frown. "Go to sleep, Marik. I'll finish cooking."

Marik shook his head. "No thanks. It's pretty much done. All that's left is the spam and…"

His head shot to the stove, which was by now releasing a thick, black fog. Odion hadn't noticed, since he had migrated over to the refrigerator to pour some juice for them. He didn't feel like putting some coffee on, and obviously Marik didn't want any, as he hadn't made any.

"Oh, crap! The biscuits!" He ran over to the oven, snatching a hand rag off the handle of the oven door, slinging it open, and (ignoring the smoke entering his body through his nostrils, and making his eyes water) he reached in and found the pan, setting it on the wooden countertop.

After the smoke had cleared, Marik and Odion stood over the silver pan, which was now littered by four piles of black used-to-be frozen biscuit. They now looked more like smashed bits of coal.

"Oops." Marik chuckled, picking up the pan with his bare hand (it had cooled…some) and dumping the biscuits in the trashcan. "I'll just…make some toast instead."

..

_After breakfast, around seven-thirty a.m. …_

Marik yawned, throwing his arms up above his head to stretch. "I gotta head down to the Institution. Before I left on Thursday, Doc told me to be back today by nine."

"Okay." Odion turned on the TV, stretching his arms on the backrest of the couch. He still had three hours before he needed to be at work, so he wouldn't need to start getting ready for another half hour or so.

Marik left the TV room, and Odion, upon hearing him unlocking the front door in the next room, called out, "Don't forget to put your clothes on, Marik!"

He heard a laugh from his half brother. "Good idea. Jeez, I hope I won't be like this all day. Maybe I should stop somewhere and get a Coke to wake me up a little." He walked through the TV room, into the kitchen, and turned into the laundry room to get his school uniform. He slid his pants and undershirt on, but slung his blazer over his shoulder. It had been hot out all week, and he didn't expect it to be any cooler today.

Once he'd gotten on the road, nothing but his thin clothes protecting him from the merciless wind, he decided that he didn't need to stop and get some caffeine in his system. The adrenaline rush that always accompanied the purr of his motorcycle, the freezing wind combing through his hair, his smirk as he revved the engine, was enough to wake him up any day of the week.

He was disappointed that the ride was over when he arrived at the Institution. He wanted to drive around some more, but it was already eight-fifty-five according to the clock under his motorcycle's speedometer. He cursed loudly, running through the door and into the dark room.

He jammed his knee on that damned table, the one that sat in the middle of the room. Holding in a stream of obscenities, he limped into the hallway, coming face-to-face with Doc.

"Why are you limping?" He asked, his brow furrowed.

"Why are you always standing right there when I come in here?" Marik shot back, not feeling like talking about the stupid table.

"I was waiting for you, honestly." He chuckled, the joyful sound setting off Marik's nerves. How could he be so happy—_laughing_-when Marik had just snapped at him like that?

"Okay, then what am I going to do today?" He crossed his arms, the pain in his knee subsiding.

Doc smirked, and the look didn't do his face justice, Marik thought. He looked…sort of _evil_.

"Well, Mister Marik…" Doc leaned against the wall casually. "The examination room hasn't been cleaned in a while. I didn't show it to you yesterday, but trust me—it's big. And messy."

Marik scowled. Of course, the doctor had to choose today to make him do a tough job. Why couldn't he just talk to some of the patients, maybe cheer up that one suicidal kid…what was his name? Kaiba?

But no. He had to do physical labor on the one day when all he wanted to do was pass out on the floor and have a good nap. Although he really couldn't complain, he supposed. After all, it was self inflicted, both the fatigue and the job…

**A/N:**

**1: In this story, I made it so Odion was Marik's mom's kid from a previous marriage, before she met Marik's dad. It made more sense in the modern Japan setting, even though I do feel guilty for altering his past like that…**

**Ugh, I really don't like this chapter. I think it classifies as filler, but I really, really wanted to write some more of the Odion!Marik relationship. **


	4. Too Many Questions

**A/N: Sorry if this is a bit sexist. Hey, I'm female myself, but this is from the point of view of a teenage guy. Not to mention, a teenage guy that I'm trying to imply is gay without actually saying it, since he doesn't even know his own eventual sexual orientation…**

The examination room looked like a normal doctor's examination room, the ones you waited in for about twenty minutes, after waiting in the waiting for about thirty, when the pretty young nurse called you into the back to weigh you and check your height. It had the cold, metal bed that was raised at one end so you could stare straight into the light on the ceiling, a short, wooden desk that the doctor never actually sat at that was littered in large piles of papers, and an orange tinted jar with the "danger: do not touch" signal on it (Marik had always wondered what they put in those that was so important, they had to label it AND color the jar).

That was one side of the room. The other side had two leather beds that stood to the height of Marik's knees that were separated from each other and the rest of the room by cream-colored curtains with a brown-ish/red stain on them, along with a large window (this one was barred, too) and a mahogany table with nothing on it.

Marik slung his school blazer over the metal table. Doc had led him to the room, and was currently explaining to him everything that needed to be cleaned.

"Okay, son. Get ready to work your ass off, because this floor needs to be swept, mopped and polished. That desk over there needs to be cleared off, the two cots need to be disinfected, the curtains need to be taken down and washed (there was a small accident in here a while ago), and…you know what, while you're at it, would you mind picking up my dry cleaning?"

Marik sent Doc his best _hell_ _no_ glare.

"I was kidding. Jeez, kid, you have no sense of humor." Doc sniggered. "Oh, all the cleaning supplies are in a closet down the hall, remember?"

Marik nodded. "Yeah. I'll…I'll get to work, I guess."

"Okay. Have fun." He walked out of the room, but after a second, he stuck his head back through the threshold. "If you need anything, just walk further down the hall until you come to the last room."

Marik nodded again, not bothering to ask what the room was. He didn't think he was going to need help cleaning a room, no matter how dirty.

..

Twenty minutes later, Marik found himself wandering down the hallway, a huge stack of papers blocking most of his vision.

He'd gathered all the papers off of the desk, with the intention of throwing them away.

After getting halfway through the task, he started noticing that more than half of the papers had the word "important" on them. He'd scowled, and collected all of the paper out of the trashcan, leaving the room with the intention of dumping them off on whoever was in the room Doc had told him to go to.

The door was different than the rest in the building. This one wasn't white. It was like the front entrance to the building—a hard, black border with a center made of glass. There was no handle, rather a metal plate that implied the door was to be pushed open.

Marik stared at the door for a second, reading the letters in black print on the glass part of it: _lounge_. He kicked the door at the bottom to open it, and slid through the small crack, almost dropping the papers. When he caught his balance, he glanced around.

The room looked a bit like a kitchen with counters and cabinets, aside from the row of blue-green lockers that were lined up against one wall. A circular table sat near the counter, with at least six chairs around it.

As soon as he walked in, five pairs of female eyes were staring at him. He assumed these were some of the nurses.

"Hello!" He flashed a smile. "Doc told me to come down here if I had any questions and I was just wondering about these pap—" He let the words fade when he noticed the girls weren't listening to him. They were whispering amongst each other, occasionally turning to smirk suggestively at him.

"Um…?" He blinked, confused, setting the heavy papers down on the table. His arm brushed against one of the girl's shoulders, and when he looked at her to apologize, she was grinning at him, blushing heavily.

"Doc never said the new guy was so _cute_!" One of the younger women said, twirling a lock of her yellow hair between her fingers.

"Yeah, but too bad he's a _criminal_." Another woman said, her bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

"No, that just makes him more _exciting_!" A brunette clapped her hands together loudly.

Marik smirked, amused. Why were all women like this? He decided to let them get their…whatever they were doing out of their systems before asking about the papers.

"Oh, my God! Look at those muscles!" A black haired girl wearing way too much make-up stood up and ran over to Marik, grabbing his left arm and squeezing the hard muscle that his undershirt (a white tank top) left revealed.

He chuckled, deciding the entertain her. He flexed the muscle, grinning broadly.

She blushed and squeezed tighter. Marik noticed her nails, painted black, were very long, and for a second feared that they would pierce his flesh. When she let go, he had to struggle to hold in a sigh of relief.

Then the other nurses gathered around him, running their hands over his sculpted chest, taking turns feeling the muscles on his tanned arms. He let them for a minute, before a blonde girl went a bit too low and he jumped away instinctively, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Sorry." She said, not sounding like she was at all sorry. "You're just so _hot_, I can't control myself!"

She took a step closer to him, and he took one step back. He hated the heat that had risen to his face and neck, but he couldn't make it go away.

"Ohhh! He's _sensitive_!" The skinny, black haired girl squealed, beaming at him. "He doesn't want us to go too far. We can respect that, right girls?"

How she referred to him as "he" like he wasn't even there irritated Marik, but he didn't say anything.

"Yeah!" The agreed together, approaching Marik once again. He thought they looked a bit like foxes, and he was the poor rabbit that was to be their meal.

"Hey, ladies!" Marik held his hands up defensively, blocking his torso. "I just came down here to ask about some papers. Could someone please just tell me what I need to know?"

Before anyone could answer him, the door to the lounge opened, and a tall, skinny woman walked in. She was scowling at the other women.

"Oh, no!" The brunette feigned horror. "Mrs. Killjoy is here!"

Instead of arguing, the newest addition to the crowd of girls around Marik smirked. "That's right, and she's angry. Why are you girls just sitting around here on your asses when there's work to be done? Get the hell out out of the lounge _now _and go do what you were hired for!"

At her command, everyone in the room cleared out until it was only her and Marik.

Being honest with himself, Marik was feeling more than a little afraid. This woman didn't seem too friendly at all.

The woman smiled sweetly at him, sweeping his first impression of her under the rug. "Hey, I'm Mrs. More, Doc's wife. I'm in charge here, no matter what he says." She laughed, a shrill chuckle that didn't annoy Marik, like Doc's laugh did.

Marik nodded politely. "I'm—"

"Marik Ishtar, you're sixteen years old, live with your dad further into the city and you go to the local high school. You're an average student, not really failing, but you could do better. You got in trouble for trying to steal from the department store down the street, and that's why you're here." She grinned. "Did I get everything right?"

Marik blinked, unsure whether to feel invaded or impressed. He was leaning toward impressed. "Uh, yeah, pretty much."

"Awesome! So what did you need help with?" She sat down on the table, right next to the stack of papers.

"I need to know what to do with those papers. They were in the examination room—"

"Chunk 'em." Mrs. More waved a hand. "Julius leaves all his useless paperwork on the desk in there. That's the only organizing he does. Honestly, that man…"

She laughed, and Marik joined in.

"Okay, then do you think you could show me how to, um, wax a floor?" Marik felt silly asking, but he had never really done much to pretty up a room, living with his father who would just come behind him and trash it with beer bottles and cigarette butts.

She smiled at him. "Sure, hon."

..

Mrs. More helped him with cleaning the room, and they finished after only an hour. During that time, Marik had asked what the room was even used for. She'd replied that it was where they took their more stubborn patients to issue medications, and their newer ones for examinations and testing for disorders. She said the room really wasn't used much.

They walked down the long hallway, back to the lounge for a break. It was around ten thirty, and Mrs. More said that the patients were fed at eleven, and the nurses always waited until after feeding them before switching off for lunch breaks themselves. She always went for a cup of coffee before the lounge was crowded by the young girls, no longer peaceful.

Mrs. More poured each of them a mug of coffee, and they talked for a while.

"So, tell me, Marik. Why do you look so worn out?" She asked, taking a sip.

He frowned. "I couldn't sleep last night."

She puckered her full, red lips. "Looks like you forgot to shave this morning, too."

He smiled, running his fingers along his rough jaw and upper neck. "Yeah. I stayed at my brother's house last night, and I don't like using his razor."

He frowned, realizing at that moment that he hadn't even showered that morning. He probably looked dirty.

She smirked. "Why didn't you sleep at your own house?"

Marik faltered. "Uh…bonding. With my brother."

She eyed him, sensing a lie, but didn't push. "Sorry about my nurses' behavior, by the way. They always overreact when it comes to the male workers, especially guys like you."

"_Guys like me_?" Marik raised an eyebrow.

"Handsome. Young. Muscular." She smirked. "Tanned. Slight foreign accent. You know, every teenage girl's dream?"

Marik grinned into his coffee, ignoring the blush that burned his cheeks. "Do they only care about looks? If they knew me they'd probably be more careful to stay away."

"Ah, these women are desperate, hon. No one is bad enough for them to turn down." She took a sip of coffee. "And you seem very nice, to me."

Marik chuckled. "Thanks."

After a moment of silence, he asked, "Can you tell me more about the patient Bakura?"

She furrowed her brow. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything you can tell me would be nice." He said, grinning sheepishly.

She frowned. She thought for a moment, as if considering what Marik might want to do with the information. Seemingly deciding that it wouldn't cause much harm to tell him, she began speaking. "Um, he was dropped off here at a young age; I think he was nine years old. His dad left him here, telling Doc that the kid was insane, evil-And we're talking about this really adorable, like, newborn puppy adorable, kid with huge brown eyes and a bright grin."

She smiled distantly, lost in a memory. Just when Marik feared that she wasn't going to say anything more, her expression darkened. "His family had just moved to Japan from England. It was him, his mom, his sister, and his father. We ran tests on him, we interacted with him, everything. We didn't see anything wrong with him at all, not even an attention disorder. He was perfectly healthy. And…later, we contacted his dad and asked why he'd dropped Bakura off. He'd replied that he'd murdered both his sister and his mother while the dad was off at work."

As he grew older, he started acting up. He…became violent, and distant. And soon we were forced to lock him up. He…he'd almost killed three nurses."

She took another long pause. "I wanted to adopt him before he'd started acting up. Hell, I wanted to after that. He's not a bad kid. He just needs attention. He needs to be taught to care about others, instead of causing them pain. But Doc doesn't let anyone near him, in fear of them getting hurt. At least, that's what he says. I think it's more to protect Bakura from getting himself into any more trouble."

Marik gazed gloomily into the face of the woman who had been so cheerful not five minutes ago. The image of Bakura's glare through the window flashed through his mind, so angry. Was he angry at his father for having him committed? Was he angry at the Institute for labeling him?

He sighed. It seemed that the explanation of Bakura's past was causing more questions rather than answering the ones he already had. He found himself wanting to go see Bakura, wanting to ask him these questions. After all, the white-haired mystery boy was probably the only one able to answer all of his questions.

"Sorry, Mrs. More. I didn't realize that asking about him would hurt you." Marik squeezed his hands into fists, closing his eyes tightly.

She gave him a sad smile, even though he couldn't see. "It's alright. And you can call me Sierra."

Before he could react, she stood up and poured the remainder of her coffee down the drain. "It's almost eleven. We should go."

Marik nodded, chugging the rest of his drink (he would need the caffeine, in case he ran into another nurse) and dropping the mug into the sink. Mrs. More, or Sierra, led the way out of the lounge. While they were walking down the hallway to the patients rooms, she said, "Hey, do me a favor and don't tell Doc I told you about Bakura? He doesn't like to talk about him, because—whether he'll admit it or not—he loves that kid as his own."

Marik nodded. "I never heard a thing."

They walked in silence until they reached the hallway of rooms with nameplates on the doors. Nurses were delivering food trays to each room. Marik recognized some as the women from the lounge, but some were missing, and replaced by more made-up young women.

"Mrs. Mo—Sierra, what are we going to do while everyone is eating?" He asked her, leaning on the wall to watch the nurses scramble around the hallway.

"We? Sorry, Marik, but you're on you're on your own for a while. I have some work to do." She smirked up at him, since he was a few inches taller than her. "After lunch, the patients go outside in the yard in the back for an hour or so. What you do in the meantime is up to you, unless you run into Doc and he gives you more work."

Marik scowled. He would have liked some free time, to just roam around…and maybe _accidentally _run into a nurse, and _coax _her into _dropping _her keys to the rooms at his feet. Maybe.

He started thinking about how he would go about doing that, when an annoying laugh entered his ears.

"Hey, son. How'd the cleaning go?" He smiled, clapping Marik on the arm.

"It's done, if that's what you're asking." He replied, rubbing the reddening mark where Doc had hit him playfully.

"The nurses tell me you were very _nice_ to them, Marik. Good job. You remind me of myself when I was your age, boy." He patted Marik on the top of his head affectionately.

Marik scowled and took a step away from the doctor. "Do I have any more work?"

"Yes, of course. But not right now. I'll need your help in a little over half an hour, so just go to the lounge, but make sure you're back here in that time. You know what…" Doc turned to a nurse that had just come out of a room and said, "Hey, will you take Marik back to the staff lounge for me? He might get lost if I send him off on his own, but I still have work."

The woman—it was the girl with the ebony hair, and the sharp nails that were painted black—nodded, smiling. "Sure, Doc. I'd be delighted!"

Marik's eyes widened in horror. "That's not necessary, really. No need to disrupt an employee."

"I'm headed there anyway, but thanks for caring. So sweet!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him back down the hall. As he was being yanked around a corner, he saw Doc unlock Bakura's room door and step in. So much for tricking one of the nurses into giving them their keys…

All thoughts of Bakura disappeared as the nurse pulled his hand more, begging him to follow her. He sighed, and while speeding up his steps, all he could think of was how he'd been pushed around and _fondled_ all day, and how tired he was getting of the stupid white hallways.

..

Marik had convinced the nurse (turned out her name was Evelyn) to stop by the examination room, because he'd forgotten his school blazer earlier that morning, when he was cleaning it.

She followed him in, commenting on how _dark_ and _quiet_ and _isolated_ the room was. He ignored her, slipping on his blazer, but not buttoning it up. He didn't make an attempt to leave the room. He sat down on the metal bed, stretching his long legs out in front on him. He let out a big yawn.

"What are you doing?" Evelyn asked through painted black lips.

"I think I'll just stay in here for a while. You go on ahead. I'll be okay." Truthfully, Marik would have done anything to avoid going back to the lounge when it was full of the nurses, and he really wouldn't mind the silence and darkness of the examination room.

"Are you sure? I really wanted to get to know you better." She pouted.

Marik turned to her and winked slyly. "I'll be here for eight more weeks."

She blushed, giggling. "Okay. But promise me you'll have lunch with us next Saturday?"

Marik wanted to sigh, but he didn't. "Yeah, sure."

"Yay!" She squealed, running out of the room excitedly.

After she was gone, he rubbed his eyes, groaning. Of course, he didn't really want to eat lunch with the other workers, but he also didn't want them following him around. Maybe if he had lunch with them, they'd cool down some. Probably not, but it was all he could hope for.

Eyeing a clock right above the doctor's (now clean, thanks very much) desk, he checked the time. 11:26. Okay, so that meant he should probably leave the examination room around 11:45 to get back to the rooms in time for whatever Doc was planning.

Wait, hadn't Sierra said that they were going to take the patients outside? That would be interesting.

That was the last thing Marik remembered thinking, before falling into a deep sleep right on the uncomfortable metal bed.

..

_Two hours later…_

"_Hey! Son, wake up!"_

Marik felt his body shaking, which startled him into sitting up. His head collided with something hard.

"OW!"

When his vision cleared, he realized it had been Doc who was shaking him, and Doc's head was the hard object that he'd rammed into.

"You awake?" He said bitterly, rubbing his forehead.

"No. I sleep with my eyes open all the time, didn't you know?" Marik said sarcastically, stifling a yawn.

Doc ignored the mockery. He flinched when he rubbed his forming bump too hard. "How did you end up in here?"

"I forgot my blazer in here earlier. What time is it?" Marik slid off the bed.

"It's one-thirty, kid. You've been out for a while."

"Damn. Wish I'd slept longer. It felt good." He stretched his muscles, arching his back.

Doc laughed. "Except that now you only have two hours to finish up your work."

"What work?" Marik buttoned up his blazer, deciding it was cold.

Doc smirked cruelly, a cackle escaping his lips. "I was going to let you off easy, and just make you sweep the hallways again, but since you slept for a while, you're all rested up. Just perfect for washing the dishes from lunch and taking the trash out to the dumpster. After that, I want you to…"

Marik stared at Doc as at least fifteen chores rolled off his tongue, each one worse than the one that preceded it.

He groaned, but completed each one nevertheless, and all in two hours, which he considered a miracle.

..

As he was leaving the building, he walked down the hallway of the patients' rooms. He stopped in front of Bakura's door, staring at the knob. He knew it was locked, but that didn't stop him from reaching out and trying it anyway.

Needless to say, it didn't open.

He sighed. He wanted to go in so bad, especially after what Sierra had told him.

"_He's not a bad kid. He just needs attention. He needs to be taught to care about others, instead of causing them pain."_

Maybe, just maybe…Marik could teach him. He didn't want to—couldn't stand the thought of—letting Bakura stay all alone in his room, growing more and more bitter and vicious, just because some doctor thought he was dangerous.

Marik scowled, raising his hand to run it down his own face. What was wrong with him? He didn't even know this guy, and he was feeling so…_protective_, no, that's not it-_possessive _over him.

Bakura was rude, and he was mean, a murderer, according to Sierra. He was cold and conceited, from Marik's experience. He looked ragged and beat up, skinny and unhealthy.

Why did Marik want to get involved in that? He rested his head up against Bakura's room door.

_Maybe because he's lonely, and sad. _His sensitive side said. _Maybe because he has no family or friends, and is probably afraid to accept anyone as such, because of his past experiences of abandonment. He probably acts like that because he's scared to befriend anyone. _

_But you can change that._

Marik leaned his head against Bakura's door, wondering what the boy would think if he knew about the current emotional turmoil Marik was in because of him. After all, Marik knew Bakura probably hated him, and everyone else, according to his eyes.

Would these emotions make Bakura hate him more?

Probably.

Why did he care about that?

He had no answer.

"Shut up." He told his own mind. Sometimes, rationality is the last thing a person needs. "Just shut up. I don't want to hear it."

And with that, he ran out of the building, deciding immediately that he would go back to Odion's place after driving home to get a change of clothes. He didn't feel like dealing with his dad today, and if he was lucky, he would be able to climb into his room through a window, get what he needed, and hightail out before his dad noticed anything was wrong.

But, of course, Marik didn't exactly have the best luck, as he'd learned in his sixteen-year-old life.

..

**A/N: Wow, longest chapter yet. 3,969 words. I had planned on making them progressively longer, but I guess I had a lot to say today.**


	5. Fool

**A/N: Finally, some more Marik/Bakura interaction. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!.**

_The following Monday…_

Marik scrubbed the white porcelain toilet bowl, sweat collecting on his brow from the effort. He'd been working on the same bathroom for half an hour, and he was almost done.

With one last swish around the bowl with the blue brush, he smirked in satisfaction. Every inch of the room was practically sparkling, a clear representation of his hard work. He walked over to the sink and washed his hands, grinning down at the polished faucet.

He dried his hands on his shirt, while swiftly walking out of the room. Since he'd finished cleaning the bathroom, maybe Doc would give him a job that would require the keys to the rooms. Then he could—

He ran into something hard, causing him to stumble a few steps backward. The only thing that kept him on his feet was the bathroom door, whose handle was still in his grasp.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Came a female voice, high-pitched and hysterical.

He looked up from the floor, meeting eyes with Evelyn, the nurse. "It's not your fault. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

She giggled, raising a hand to her mouth. "But, may I ask, why were you in the girls' room?"

"Huh?" A blush rose to Marik's face. That's right. He'd completely forgotten the drama that had occurred after Doc told him, with a grin, that he would be cleaning the girl's bathroom near the lounge today…

_Flashback:_

"_Here." Doc tossed a blue toilet brush at Marik, who caught it instinctively, but dropped it when he realized what it was. _

"_What's this for?" He asked, leaning over to grab it with his thumb and forefinger, disgusted._

"_To clean the bathroom, son." Doc said, in a _DUH _tone._

"_Okay. Which one?" He asked, deciding it couldn't be too hard to clean a bathroom._

"_There's a really nasty one by the lounge. Just look for the door with the word _'ladies'_ on it." _

"_What?" Marik scowled. "No friggin' way man. Get a chick to clean the girl's room."_

"_We don't have any females hired to do that. Besides, that would be no fun." Doc laughed. Turning Marik around and nudging him down the hall. "I'll be in the lounge when you're done. Just come to me, and I'll give you your next job."_

_That was the last thing Marik heard from Doc before he rushed into the lounge across the hall, leaving Marik alone. _

"_Damn you, _doctor_."_

_He decided he had no choice than to clean the room. It couldn't be that bad, right? As long as no one came in…_

_He'd lock the door._

.

"Uh, Doc…made me clean it." He said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Which reminds me, I gotta go. See you around, Evelyn."

He smiled, letting his arm and hip brush against her as he walked past.

..

_The Lounge…_

Doc sat back in his chair, his feet resting on the wooden table. It was nice when he was the only one in the lounge. He liked the solitude…

And that meant he could break into the wine he'd hidden from the other workers. The only other person who knew about it was Sierra, but she wouldn't tell. Oftentimes, they'd take a break while everyone else was busy and come into the staff lounge for a nice glass of wine together. That's how they'd fallen in love, as Doc recalled.

The door flew open, interrupting his peace. Marik entered the room, looking just as pissed at the world as usual.

"Oh, hey. Didn't expect you to be done so soon." Doc hid his glass behind his back, his arm stretching at an awkward angle.

"I'm done." The boy said, raising an eyebrow at Doc. "And I can still see that, you know."

Doc chuckled. Marik was observant, for someone so impatient and hotheaded. He downed the wine and set the empty glass on the table.

"What do I have to do next?" He asked, crossing his arms.

Doc could sense something bothering the boy. There was an anxious manner to his body language; the way he shifted his weight every few seconds, chewed the inside of his cheeks.

"I want you to organize the storage closet down the hall. It's not that hard. I just want you to separate the piled of junk on the shelves." Doc said, grinning.

Doc noticed Marik looked disappointed, even though he tried to hide it. He wondered why, before the thought struck him: it was probably all the manual labor he was forcing upon the boy. Maybe he'd lighten up a little bit on Wednesday, let him keep some of the patients company. After all, Marik had been working pretty hard, and doing a damn good job for such a young boy.

"Alright. This is the last thing I have to do today, right?" The boy asked.

"Yup. You only have to be here another fifteen minutes. That should be perfect for prettying up that closet for me." He winked, his grin not fading. "It's the last door on the right."

"Okay." As soon as Marik turned, he couldn't hold the smirk on his face any longer. He was off to see Bakura, thanks to Evelyn and her naiveté.

_Flashback…_

_Evelyn giggled, raising a hand to her mouth. "But, may I ask, why were you in the girls' room?"_

"_Uh, Doc…made me clean it." He said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Which reminds me, I gotta go. See you around, Evelyn."_

_He smiled, walking past her, close enough to snag the ring of keys in her pant pocket. They should be able to open any room he wanted to…_

_His smile turned into a smirk when he realized that she hadn't even noticed he'd taken anything from her. It had been surprisingly easy. Well, maybe not _surprisingly_. Marik was an experienced criminal, after all, and she was a bubbly young woman that probably thought he was hitting on her._

.

He made his way to the storage closet, deciding to clean it out as fast as possible, then head down to Bakura's room.

It didn't take long for Marik to "sort the junk" in the small, dark closet. It certainly wasn't fifteen minutes worth of work, so he was off to Bakura's room in less than five. He ran down the hall, unable to contain his excitement.

Wait a minute, excitement? Why was Marik Ishtar _excited_ about seeing some white-haired reject kid in a mental hospital?

He was annoyed that he had no answer to his own question, but he couldn't stop the bubbling in his stomach no matter how much he tried to tell himself that getting keyed up over seeing Bakura was both childish and stupid, of which he was neither.

Usually.

When Marik finally reached Bakura's room, he yanked the keys he'd stolen from Evelyn out of his pocket and tried each one until he found the one that fit perfectly into the doorknob.

His stomach flipped at the _click _it made as he turned it, and his hand was shaking (_Why! Why is my hand shaking? _He asked himself) when he reached out to open it.

Bakura was lying on the floor, facedown so that his cheek was pressed against the cool white tiles. He was wearing the same thing he had been when Marik had first seen him, except he was barefoot now, and his hair was even messier, if that was possible.

"Why are you on the floor?" Marik asked, kneeling down beside him to look in his eyes.

"You again. What do you want?" Bakura spat rudely, ignoring Marik's question.

"I don't want anything." Marik lied, letting the corners of his lips fall in an innocent frown. Did Bakura just not know how to greet someone properly?

"Then leave." Bakura smirked, much to Marik's surprise. That wasn't an expression normally used when telling someone to bugger off.

There was a silence, in which Marik positioned himself more comfortably on the floor, wordlessly declaring that he had absolutely no intentions of leaving.

"So, Bakura, where are you from?" Marik decided to ask a question he already knew the answer to, to make sure Bakura would tell him the truth.

"That's none of your business."

Okay. "What's your full name?"

"That's none of your business."

Damn. "Do you even have one?"

"That's none of your business."

Marik sulked. "Are you going to tell me anything?"

Bakura's smirk widened. "Will you go away if I do?"

Marik's face brightened considerably as he nodded eagerly. "Sure." _But I won't promise I'm not going to be back on Wednesday, _Marik thought. He decided to keep that thought to himself.

Bakura stared at him a moment, weighing the pros and cons. Pro: This guy leaves. Con: He is forced to open up to someone.

Bakura wasn't one to just go around telling people about himself, especially not people who seemed to be stalking him. But then again, he would be back to his lovely, peaceful solitude if he just answered a few questions…

"How many questions do you have?"

"Quite a few." Marik bit his lip, grinning hopefully at the unkempt young man lying on the floor in front of him.

He sighed, and sat up against the wall. "Hurry up."

"Where are you from?" Marik repeated.

"Isn't it obvious?" Bakura replied, sneering.

Marik nodded slowly. Bakura was right. His accent was pretty…noticeable.

"Then will you tell me your full name?"

Bakura hesitated. "It's Bakura. Just Bakura."

Marik cocked his head. "Is that your first name?"

"...I don't know.**(1)**" He answered, glaring at his own lap.

The Egyptian eyed the other boy sympathetically. Bakura didn't seem to notice, as he was distracted by whatever was so interesting about his own lap.

Marik let Bakura think for a moment, before saying, "Hey, Bakura?"

"What?" He growled hoarsely.

**(**"What would you say…" Marik paused, glaring thoughtfully at Bakura's chest, unable to meet his eyes. "if I told you I, um, care about you?"

Bakura smirked, looking very much like a cat. An evil, satanic cat. "I'd say you're a fool." **2)**

Marik shouldn't have let the words hurt him like he did. He'd just met Bakura; he couldn't expect him to accept his odd confession. He had to admit that it was a bit creepy to say something like that to a practical stranger. But Marik couldn't help it. He was just being honest with the other boy. He'd thought that maybe if he said something, it would be easier to understand why he was so interested in this Bakura bloke.

"What if I told you that I'm confused about it?"

Bakura knew they weren't talking about "what if's". "I'd say that I'm not going to kiss your wounds healed and tell you everything's gonna be okay, because it's not."

Marik chuckled bitterly. "Yeah. I thought so. I'll just…leave." Marik still had more questions, but he thought he'd probably embarrassed himself enough for one day. He stood up to leave, but Bakura did something very much unexpected.

"Wait!" He called. His facial expression was odd, an open-mouthed, wide-eyed mixture of shock and something resembling, in the lightest form possible, hesitance. "Don't go."

Brows furrowed in confusion, Marik asked, "Why not? I thought you wanted me to—"

"You're amusing." Bakura's face returned to its normal, seemingly permanent smirk.

"_Amusing_? How do you mean?" Marik walked over to Bakura and sat down beside him, angling his head so he could look the other boy straight in the eyes.

"Amusing. Droll. Entertaining. Quaint. Different. You know what I mean." Bakura didn't exchange eye contact with Marik, instead preferring to trace the tiles with his eyes.

Marik thought for a moment. Was Bakura giving him a compliment, or was he imagining things? Maybe he was making too much of Bakura's words, but they actually made a smile creep onto his face, and erased all of his prior thoughts of leaving.

"My questions entertain you?"

Bakura nodded, moving his eyes to the ceiling, as the tiles had begun to bore him. "If you didn't pique my interests, I would have let you leave."

_I wonder what's going on in his head right about now, _Marik asked himself, studying Bakura's facial features. He was actually quite handsome, for someone who spent pretty much all his time alone in a small room.

Suddenly, Bakura turned and smirked at him. When their eyes met, Marik had been caught off guard. He looked away quickly, focusing on his shoelace. It was coming untied, he observed, while scolding himself for being so shy, so out of character.

"Go ahead." Bakura commanded.

Marik eyed him questioningly. "Go ahead and what?"

"Ask more questions, fool." He scowled at Marik in a "you're a complete dumbass" kind of way.

"Um, okay. How old are you?"

"I'm eighteen."

"You're two years older than me." Marik declared, letting his gaze drift back to Bakura's eyes. He found himself a bit surprised when he realized Bakura had been watching him as he avoided the older boy's gaze.

Bakura didn't look away. He didn't even falter. "You're a bit young to be working here." He commented.

"I'm not exactly _working _here." Marik hugged his knees to his chest.

"What do you mean? You broke in here?"

"No." _Not really. Only halfway. _"I, um, am working here as punishment for trying to steal from a store and getting caught."

Bakura laughed huskily.

"What's so funny about that?"

"The getting caught part." He replied, unable to control his laughter.

Marik scowled. "Stop laughing at me!"

Between muffled chuckles, Bakura said. "Fine. Go on."

"Why is your hair white?" Marik knew it was an odd question, and it didn't have anything to do with Bakura's mysterious past, but he'd wondered about that since the first time they met.

"What the hell kind of question is that? I don't know, it was the color I was born with." He snapped, all humor gone.

Marik noted how Bakura seemed to change moods pretty fast.

He bit his lip. He wanted to try asking about Bakura's family, to see how he reacted, but he didn't want to take a chance of angering him. He'd actually gotten the infamous Bakura to enjoy his presence—he didn't want to ruin that.

Plus, most of his questions were revolved around Bakura's family life, like where his dad was now, and why he'd killed his mom and sister.

But he figured those questions would have to wait.

"Well?" Bakura said, jerking Marik out of his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Any more questions?"

Marik hesitated. Now was his chance to ask…

"No, no more."

"Then leave."

"What?" Marik's head snapped in Bakura's direction.

"If you have no more questions, you are no longer entertaining. Goodbye." Bakura stood up and walked over to his bed, plopping down carelessly into the white sheets.

Marik frowned, but stood up anyway. "Okay, I'll see you on Wednesday, Bakura."

A few seconds later, his hand rested on the door handle, ready to walk out, but he made a snap decision. One that might get him killed, or satisfy his curiousity.

He turned suddenly. "Why did you kill your mother and sister, Bakura?"

At first, Bakura looked surprised, but then his expression turned angry. "How the hell do you know about that?"

"I…I asked some of the workers about your past." Marik confessed. It wasn't a _total _lie.

He stood up and approached Marik, towering over him. At first, Marik had thought Bakura looked like he was going to bite his head off and lap up the blood (hey, it's possible), but instead, he just eyed him, the tint in his dark chocolate orbs slowly changing from pure, fiery anger to an ancient, never-relenting pain.

He gritted his teeth together, looking a lot like a wild animal.

Marik panicked. He'd known that something like this was bound to happen if he asked Bakura about his obviously painful past. Why did he have to make so many stupid quick decisions?

"Bakura…" He whispered breathlessly. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want to—"

Bakura interrupted him. "I was experimenting." He revealed.

Marik frowned at him, searching his eyes. There was no more anger—it had all faded away, and been replaced by that terrible dejection, the pain that one might feel when a thousand knives were being thrust into his body, one by one.

The two boys quietly held eye contact for a while (to Marik, it felt like an hour), as Marik waited for what Bakura would say next, and Bakura wondered if he should share his tale with the stranger, whose name he could not even remember.

**A/N: **

**1: This will be explained very soon.**

**2: This scene was not meant to be a confession of love, by the way. Just trying to be as clear as possible on that. Marik is still just as innocently unaware as the last four chapters. **

**I think this is my favorite chapter so far. But I also think that the next chapter is going to top it ten times over on my favorite writings list. Yup, it's going to be all about Bakura's mysterious past! I'll probably have it up very soon, as I've been looking forward to writing this chapter since the idea for the story entered my head.**


	6. Blood Stained Innocence

**A/N: The **_italic _**is Bakura's story written out as he's telling it to Marik.**

**Bakura basically has a spin-off of Ryou's past. Sorry for his way OOC dad…**

**Disclaimer: Marik and Bakura and anything else Yu-Gi-Oh related belongs to Kazuki Takahashi. **

**WARNING: Gore.**

"I was experimenting." Bakura revealed, narrowing his eyes as if glaring at the memory. "I was only nine years old, but I suppose that's no excuse. I've always been more intelligent than most my age. I knew full well what I was doing, and the consequences. I just didn't care…"

_It was raining the day we arrived in Japan. I was happy to finally be off that blasted plane. Father had made up move because of his work, and Mother wasn't very happy about it. My sister, Amane, cried the whole plane ride. I'd told her to stop her whining and accept the move, but she'd just turned to Mother and bawled into her chest, harder and louder than before. _

_So basically, to a nine-year-old, the plane ride was a sick punishment, and when we reached Japan, it wasn't much better. Father had me home schooled, but the private teachers he hired kept quitting. I think I scared them. _

_After the tenth teacher, Father enrolled me into the local public elementary school, apparently thinking that having other kids around would discourage misbehaving. He was wrong, and his actions caused quite the opposite. On my second day of being ridiculed and causing fights, I found a litter of kittens during my walk home. _

_I thought it was odd that there was no mother, so I collected them into my arms and carried them home with me. I tried to get Mother's attention, but she was busy taking care of Amane, who had fallen and scraped her knee. Baby. _

_Anyway, I took them into the backyard and hid them in the bushes. I stayed outside for hours and played with them…_

_Until I was a bit too rough with one while scratching its neck…_

_And it snapped. The neck, I mean. The cat—this one looked like a white canvas that had been splattered by brown and black paints—convulsed for several seconds before going still, lying dead under my hand. _

_At first, I was shocked. But then something in my mind clicked. _

_That was cool. I laughed._

_I wanted to see it again. _

_So I took another cat, this one a pure, solid white, like spilled milk. Immediately, I put my thumb and forefinger between the bone at the top of its neck and twisted mercilessly. Much like before, the snap sounded, the animal convulsed in my lap, and it died. But that wasn't enough. Not even close. _

_Snap, convulse, dead._

_Snap, convulse, dead._

_Snap, convulse, dead._

_And just as soon as I had started, it was over. All the kittens lay dead around me. I sulked for a moment, sad that my fun was no more._

_But Mother, of course, that woman, chose that time to come outside and see what I'd been doing for so long, to see if I was alright. When she saw me, guilt displayed around me in the form of small cats, she gasped and backed away, as I were some monster._

_Well, to be honest, if she had called me anything of the sort, I wouldn't have argued. Not back then and not today._

_Suddenly, she approached me and picked me up. She carried me inside, and I didn't see what she did with my toys. She put me in my room and told me to stay there until dinner. _

_I sat back on my bed and thought for a while. Those kittens had been decent toys, compared to the stuffed animals and puzzles Mother bought for me. Those were no fun. But the feeling of joy that actually caused me to laugh, something I never did, was one I wanted—no NEEDED to feel again. _

_I needed to kill more, I realized, a smile creeping upon my lips._

_And who was the perfect target?_

_The woman who treated me like a child, even though I was probably more intelligent at age nine than she ever was. The woman who sucked away my fun. The woman who wouldn't let me play with the sharp scissors, because I'd "hurt myself". The woman who married my father, and gave birth to both me and Amane._

_My mother. _

_I stood up and went to the kitchen, where she would be preparing dinner, as Father would be home soon and expecting a warm meal. She frowned at me when I entered the room, and told me to go back upstairs._

_I ignored her, of course, and opened the knife drawer. I dug for the sharpest, thinnest blade I could find. I wanted a clean cut, not a messy, ugly pile of blood and exposed innards. _

_Mother yelled at me to go back to my room again, and when that didn't work, she approached me and picked me up. Luckily for me, I'd already picked out my killing instrument, so as soon as she picked me up, I turned and slit her throat. _

_Blood poured out, and after a moment of looking at me in fear—a sweet, beautiful look of utter horror at being cut open lethally by her own son—she dropped me. I threw the knife across the room and watched it slide over the floor as I fell, so I wouldn't accidentally cut myself._

_I didn't go after it, much preferring to watch the light fade from _thatwoman's _eyes. It was lovely, the way she stared at me, her face forever frozen in that beautiful look. _

_Soon, her chest stopped heaving and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. _

_She was dead. _

_I started laughing, the only sound in the room. That is, until a gasp in the doorway caught my attention. _

_Amane stood there, her eyes dancing from the bloody knife, Mother lying lifeless on the floor, and then back to me. _

"_She cut herself while she was cooking." The lie came easy. "I tried to help, but…"_

_Amane didn't say anything. She stood in the doorway, unmoving. _

"_Amane…" _

_She started crying. _

_How annoying. _

_I approached her, picking up the knife from the floor while she bawled into her hands, and embracing her. Of course, she hugged me back, as she had no idea I was now a murderer or my intentions. She cried into my shoulder, and I welcomed her…_

_For a second. Then I thrust the knife into her back and twisted violently, like I'd seen in the movies._

_Her breath hitched._

_She froze in my arms. _

_She whispered my name, and then, "No…"_

_She went limp, and I let her go._

_I laughed again as she took her last breath, a pool of coughed-up blood on the floor by her mouth. _

_Ten minutes later, I had gone back to my room, satisfied, leaving my victims on the floor. I heard the purr of Father's car outside, then the door slamming closed. After a minute, I heard his frantic footsteps as he rushed up the stairs, probably to my room._

_The door slammed against the wall as he opened it, panicked. Seeing me lying on my bed comfortably, with Amane's blood stains on my shirt sleeve, his face contorted into fear._

"_What have you done?" He asked, backing away from me, just like Mother had._

_I grinned. "I was playing."_

"Playing_? You call murder _playing_?" He exclaimed. "Devil!"_

_My grin didn't falter. I didn't argue._

"_You're…evil." He said, finally growing the nerve to approach me. Very slowly. _

_I still didn't argue, not even as he wrapped me in my blanket, covering my eyes and using the sheets as a bind to hold the blanket closed, and me still._

_He had always been good at improvisation._

_He carried me somewhere, and I didn't bother to tell him that I no longer had a weapon on me, as it probably wouldn't matter._

_Not long after I was bound, I heard some clicks and I was thrown into something hard. _

SLAM!

_Car door._

Click! SLAM!

_Another car door._

_The engine started and we moved. I remained silent for at least twenty minutes as he chauffeured me. I had almost nodded off when the car stopped, and I was once again lifted and carried into a building. It was cold. _

_I heard voices, but I was tired, so I kept falling asleep in my father's arms._

"_He's evil! He killed them!" Father._

"_Killed who, sir?" Asked a female voice._

"_Amane! And…and my wife! He's possessed! Contain him, I beg you!"_

"_Calm down, sir, please!" The female._

"_Calm down! My wife and my daughter were both MURDERED by this…this _devil_!"_

_This continued for a while, until Father finally shared how he'd come home to two bodies on his kitchen floor and me with blood on my clothes. _

_Then he left. The woman—a slender, dark-haired beauty with painted red lips—picked me up and smiled down at me. _

_That's the last thing I remember, before I woke up on a soft bed, covered by white sheets. The same woman was sitting on the bottom corner, smiling at me with the same made-up lips. _

_I asked her where I was, and she told me the Domino City Institution. She introduced herself as the wife of the doctor who ran the place, and she told me that my father had dropped me off last night. _

_I remembered that, of course. _

_A few weeks passed, as the woman and her husband contacted my dad and asked him to take me back, as their tests had proven that there was nothing at all wrong with me. He refused, of course. Otherwise I wouldn't be here now._

_After that, they decided to keep me at the Institution and renamed me. They called me "Bakura", or "glory". I haven't been called by my birth name in so long. I do not even remember it. That's why I was unable to answer your question earlier._

_One day, I was thinking about that night…when I'd murdered my mother and Amane, I'd felt so powerful. Nothing could stop me. They were helpless._

_I wanted that feeling again. _

_I tried murdering some of the nurses, but I was always stopped. Somehow…_

_And then they locked me up. I don't blame them…I was uncontrollable. I still am. If they were to let me out today, I wouldn't be able to promise I wouldn't be a danger to anyone else._

"And you know what?" Bakura met Marik's eyes, unstable brown to sympathetic lavender. "I have no regrets."

Marik was silent, letting his brain fully process Bakura's story. So it was true. Bakura was a murderer. A sick boy, whose innocence was stained by blood, mind crazed with an insane need to kill.

Even with these thoughts, Marik's emotions were nothing less than compassion. He knew exactly what Bakura was saying, oddly enough. He understood and he felt sorry for him. Sorry that he had those urges, the need to kill. That he was locked up in a place he'd never be able to leave. That he was bound by a straight jacket. That his life sucked.

"_He's not a bad kid. He just needs attention. He needs to be taught to care about others, instead of causing them pain."_

Marik's face contorted into an expression of sheer sorrow, as he could feel Bakura's pain and understood it wholly.

So he did the only thing he could think to do, and probably the only thing he _could_ do.

He embraced the other boy, knowing full well that Bakura couldn't (because of the straight jacket) and probably wouldn't even if he could hug him back.

Bakura was silent. He stiffened in Marik's arms, and scowled into his hair. This boy…he had guts if he was willing to come so close to someone who had just admitted to murder. Bakura felt an odd yank in his chest, something unfamiliar. Was that…respect? For this boy, who he did not even know?

"What is your name?" He asked, not pulling away from the Egyptian.

Marik didn't hesitate. "Marik Ishtar."

"Marik." Bakura played with the unfamiliar name. "Why…did you come to me?"

"I don't know. A voice in my head told me to." He replied.

"And _I'm_ the one who's locked up."

Marik laughed. It did sound a little crazy, claiming to hear a voice in his head. But what else could he call it? An instinct?

"Now, would you kindly let me go?" Bakura asked, not bothering to hide the venom in his accented voice.

Marik jumped away, looking down to hide a blush. He'd completely forgotten that he was holding Bakura… "Sorry." He whispered.

"You should leave." Bakura said, not as harsh as Marik would have expected.

He nodded in response. "I'll see you on Wednesday." And he left, not waiting for a response from Bakura.

The whole ride back to Odion's apartment (Marik had gotten used to the peace of staying with his half brother, and quite liked waking up early for school, not bruised, burned, or covered in blood) Marik was all too aware of the extra key in his shoe, the one that opened Bakura's room door.

..

_While Bakura was sharing his story with Marik…_

Doc's phone went off in his pocket, a mixture of vibrations and a jolly flute tone. He pulled it out and answered it, walking down the hallway to check on Bakura.

"Hello?" He said into the phone, after reading the caller ID. It was Sierra.

"I'm in the security room. Julius, you better get down here." She sounded stunned.

"Sierra, honey, is something wrong?" He turned around, all thoughts of Bakura falling from his mind.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Just hurry down here!" She hung up.

Doc ran down the hall, concerned for his wife. The security room was in the back of the building, and he was in the front. It was a long run, and when he arrived, he threw the door open violently

Inside, Sierra was sitting cross-legged on the security man's desk, grinning at the screen that showed Bakura's room.

"Come look, Doc! It's…amazing." She said, not peeling her eyes from the screen for one moment.

Curiously, he looked over her shoulder. What he saw both surprised and enraged him.

The new boy, Marik, was holding Bakura in his arms in some sort of one-sided hug. His lips were moving, but the cameras weren't fitted with microphones, so they couldn't hear what was being said.

"What the hell…? Sierra, why are you just watching them? We need to get Marik—"

"Look at that, Doc. Bakura obviously has no intentions of hurting him." She interrupted.

"So? We can't just…just let him break the rules like that!" Doc was furious. His nostrils flared in anger.

"But look at them, Doc. They're becoming friends. If Bakura made a friend…maybe he'd change."

Doc shook his head. "No. I won't allow this."

"Allow what? Bakura to make a friend? For him to become a better person?" Sierra crossed her arms stubbornly, hopping off the desk. She ignored the security man, who looked completely embarrassed that he'd been caught in the fight.

"No, Marik to disobey me directly." Doc turned to go, but Sierra caught his arm.

"Julius…please. This could be a great opportunity for him. For them both." She looked into his eyes, pleading.

He scowled angrily at her. How could she be so naïve? Bakura was too far into his condition. There was no turning back for him. Only a further journey into instability. And Marik would most likely only become another victim.

"I know what you're thinking. I can see it in your eyes. They can help each other! Can't you see?" She motioned with her eyes for him too look at the screen. Marik was still holding Bakura tightly, his hands gripping the back if his shirt, and Bakura was saying something into his neck, a smirk firmly planted on his lips.

Doc studied the scene for a moment. They looked like a couple of gay teenagers, staying in that position for so long.

And suddenly, Marik jumped away, blushing. His head held low, he muttered something. Bakura replied with a short sentence, and Marik said something quickly, turning to leave.

After he was gone, Bakura stood in the same place he had been when Marik was hugging him, smirking at the door. He did that for a while, and was still like that when Doc tore his eyes from the screen to look at Sierra, who was smiling hopefully at Bakura on the screen.

He studied her until she met his eyes, a hopeful glint in her own light green orbs.

He sighed. "Fine. I won't stop Marik from seeing Bakura. But if either of them gets hurt, it's on your head."

"Thank you!" She planted a kiss on his lips, and then pulled him into a tight hug.

Bakura was saved now, she was sure. From what she'd learned about Marik in the short time she talked to him, he was troubled himself, but also determined and filled with courage and pride. He was a lot like Bakura, just the opposite of her. Maybe that's why she hadn't been able to help the fair-haired boy when he'd first come to the Institution.

But Marik, she knew, would show him the light. Call it woman's intuition, but she was positive.

**A/N: I appreciate reviews!**


	7. Stolen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!. **

**Dedication: XxDragonEyexX helped me a lot with this chapter. Well, she helped a lot with basically everything about this story, and I never even would have posted it without her. Here's to you, old friend!**

**WARNING: Contains non-graphic rape and gore. NON-GRAPHIC DOES NOT MEAN IT DOES NOT REACH **_**M**_** RATING. Though most of you are probably going to ignore this, I suggest no one under the age of thirteen read this. You have been warned.**

_Wednesday, 4:02, the Institution…_

Marik sighed, relieved that his day was finally almost over. It hadn't been a particularly exciting day. He'd gone to school from Odion's place, sneaked home for a change of clothes after school, then come to the Institute for work. Doc had made him "communicate with the patients" or some bullshit, so he'd basically spent that past two hours naming all of Yugi's personalities and trying to have a conversation with Keith that didn't involve the words "who sent you".

And of course, Doc didn't let him go into Bakura's room and talk with him. Well, he hadn't asked if he could. He knew the answer, as Doc had made it clear on the first day that Marik was to stay away from that room.

Too bad Marik was a terrible listener.

He jammed the key into the lock on Bakura's doorknob and twisted it once. It clicked, and he pulled the door open, slipping the key back into his shoe as he shut the door.

"You're back." Bakura stated, sounding somewhat surprised, yet somehow uninterested at the same time.

"I said I'd be back today, didn't I?"

Bakura grunted in response. He was lying back on his bed, cross-legged, in his faded light blue jeans and bare feet.

There was a silence as Marik walked over to the bed and slid down to the floor beside it, resting the side of his head on the mattress.

"What do you want?" Bakura asked after a minute.

Marik thought. Bakura sure asked that a lot. Did no one ever come just to _visit_ him?

"I don't _want _anything from you." He said, meeting Bakura's gaze.

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm…just visiting." Marik smirked. "If that's alright with you."

"I don't care." Bakura replied with his own sneer, much creepier and more experienced than Marik's.

Marik snorted. There was another short silence.

"Hey, Bakura?"

"Hmph."

"Do you like it here at the Institution?" Marik closed his eyes to avoid seeing Bakura's.

"I could have done better." Was his answer.

Another silence. Marik decided that maybe today wasn't a very good conversation day and stood up to leave.

He heard Bakura shuffle around on the bed, but didn't see as his back was turned.

"What about you?" He asked.

"Hm?" Marik didn't turn around.

"I told you about my past. Tell me about yours." He paused, realizing that he might have actually sounded _interested _in someone other than himself. He corrected, "An eye for an eye, an arm for an arm. It's basic manners, and the law of matter. You can't get something for nothing."

Marik's smirk returned. "I didn't realize you cared."

"I never said I did."

"The why'd you ask."

"I told you, it's polite."

Marik chuckled, turning to look at Bakura. "You don't really seem to be one to care about that."

Seeing the annoyed scowl on Bakura's face, Marik decided to stop messing with him. He sat down on the bed beside Bakura's head. "What do you want to know?"

He thought, his eyebrows creasing. "Everything."

"Everything?" Marik raised an eyebrow.

"I told you how I got here, now you tell me." Bakura smirked. "Like I said, it's an eye for an eye."

Marik chortled. "Okay. I was born here in Japan, but my parents were both born and raised in Egypt. They moved here after they…they fell in love, and had my sister, Ishizu. She's in Egypt right now. She moved there right after she became independent. So anyway, a few years after Ishizu, they had me."

Marik hesitated. "And..um, I…I…"

Bakura raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"She died. There were…complications with the birth, and I killed my mother." Marik bit his lip as hard as he could, ignoring the drop of blood that ran down his chin.

Bakura watched the crimson tear fall onto his sheets, sinking into the mattress. It left a small, circular stain.

Marik didn't seem to notice. "And her son from a previous marriage, my half brother Odion, was treated like shit by my fatherafter she died. From there, I guess he decided that only abusing one kid was unfair, and he started hitting me, too, when I was around seven years old. He never hit Ishizu, though. I'm not really sure why. Maybe she was the favorite."

When Odion turned eighteen, dad kicked him out onto the streets, no money or anything. I sneaked him food until he found a job and could support himself." Marik paused, chuckling darkly. "The night dad found out about my feeding him…jeez, he beat me shitless. But it was worth it, for Odion."

Bakura scowled at him, obviously disapproving of his loyalty to his brother.

Marik discarded his shoes and swung his legs up onto the bed, making himself more comfortable. "I guess that basically covers everything. My life's really not all that interesting."

"Why were you stealing?" Bakura scooted closer to the wall, giving Marik more room on the bed. Or maybe he was trying to get away from Marik…

"What?"

Bakura rolled his eyes. "You said you're here because you were arrested for stealing."

Marik gave Bakura an eyebrow raise. "My father doesn't tend to feed me that much. That's how he noticed food was missing when I was giving it to Odion. I was hungry, and there wasn't much else I could do."

"Couldn't you have gone to your brother?" Bakura offered.

Marik grinned. "What fun is that?"

Bakura smirked. "I like the way you think."

Marik's grin faded. "I haven't done anything illegal in a while, actually. Not since I was caught."

"Why not?"

Marik shook his head. "I let down someone I care for, and I don't want to see that look in his eyes again."

"You're too soft." Bakura closed his eyes, a knowing smirk pasted on his pale face.

"Huh?"

"You're too soft to prosper from the criminal ways." Bakura said matter-of-factly.

"Hey, those "criminal ways" have been keeping my ass alive for years." Marik defended himself.

"Yes, they've been keeping you alive. But are you wealthy?" Bakura attacked again.

"I don't need—"

Bakura cut him off. "Let me guess, _you don't need wealth as long as you have family and friends_?"

Marik shook his head, bursting into hysterics. "Not even close! Do you take me for a fool?" He said between fits.

"Do you want me to answer that honestly?" Bakura sneered.

By then, all that was left of Marik's laughter was an upward curve of his lips. He considered the question. "Probably not."

Bakura chuckled, shaking his head.

Marik joined in for a moment, before sitting up to put his shoes back on. "It's getting late. Odion's expecting me for dinner."

"Do you do everything he expects you to?" Bakura asked, as Marik was tying up his shoelaces.

Marik stood up and walked over to the door, thinking over Bakura's question. "I respect him." That was all he could think to say before leaving the room, relocking the door after he'd gotten back into the hallway.

..

"Odion, do you think I'm going soft?" Marik asked, taking a bite of the hot macaroni and cheese Odion had warmed up for dinner.

"How do you mean?" He eyed Marik, one eyebrow raised.

"I mean, I haven't…done anything bad since I was arrested." Marik stared into his bowl, tracing the bright orange noodles with his eyes.

Odion laughed, earning an annoyed scowl from Marik. "No, Marik. I think you're maturing."

"Hmph. I don't like that idea."

"It's better than growing up a convict." Odion pointed out.

_Too late, _Marik thought. "Depends on how you look at it."

His brother sent him a questioning glance.

"I mean, sure, maturity is great and all, but it's _fucking_ _boring_! The life of crime is exciting and blood-boiling! It expands your mind, makes you think in ways you wouldn't have because your success or failure depends on it." Marik grinned triumphantly. "It's actually a very healthy way to live."

"Only if you look at it in your crazy way."

"It's not crazy. It's just abnormal, therefore modern society refuses to accept it." Marik nodded, insisting.

Odion shook his head, amused. "Okay, scratch that. The idea isn't crazy—you are."

Marik, ever the respectful younger sibling, flipped Odion off. Odion laughed at him, not at all intimidated by the one-finger salute.

After a moment, Marik stopped laughed. "Odion, I think I should go back to Dad's tonight. I can't hide from him forever." He frowned, suddenly serious.

"Yeah, you can." Odion corrected, an open offer for Marik to stay with him longer.

Marik shook his head. "But I won't. I'm not that much of a chicken."

Odion scowled. "I liked you better when you thought you were going soft."

The younger brother chewed his lip, ignoring Odion's joke. "I've got to face him some time. I might as well be a man and make it now."

Odion sighed. "I guess I won't stop you. But be careful not to make him mad…"

"Yeah." Marik stuffed the rest of the mac 'n' cheese into his mouth. "I'll try my best. Thanks for dinner!"

He ran into the kitchen, shoved his bowl into the dishwasher, then went outside, yelling his goodnight back at Odion.

..

Marik narrowed his eyes, his lips pursed, at the door to his own home. It was brown, and not very decorative, like most doors in the neighborhood, with their oddly placed windows and curtains. Marik had always wondered why they put windows in the door, if they were just going to cover them up with curtains. Why not just leave the door solid, and save money on curtains?

He shook his head angrily. He was stalling. He set his hand on the doorknob and turned it. The door was never locked. Dad didn't seem to care if someone broke in, as long as he was drunk enough to not notice, and if not, drunk enough to have the courage to beat the shit out of them.

He usually had both.

He stepped into the house, immediately recognizing and _loathing _the stench of rotted beer and cigarette smoke that always strangled him as soon as he entered the place.

"Look 'ooh decided to show up tonight!" He heard his (obviously completely _hammered_) father's voice from the other side of the room.

He turned, blinking. He didn't know what to say. Anything he said would probably anger the man, but if he didn't say anything at all…

"Hey! I'm talking to you! What are you, fucking deaf or just stupid?" His dad stood up, unstably approaching him.

…that would happen.

"I…um…" Marik backed up, running into the closed door.

His dad wobbled as he tried to come closer to him. He already had that stupid, drunken grin that he wore before beating the hell out of someone, and his fists were balled, twitching anxiously.

"No..." Marik closed his eyes, raising his voice to a scream. "NO!" He lifted his arms above his head, protecting his face from the wrath of his father, which was soon to come.

"It's not your head you should be protecting…" His dad cracked his knuckles. "I haven't seen you in so long, _son_…"

Not his head? Then what should he protect? His father was always one to use lighters and fists, and go for the chest up.

Marik slid to the floor, balling himself up. He knew his father wasn't going to watch out, so he had to protect his vital organs as well as he could.

"You know, thanks to your beloved brother, I'm now deaf in one ear. That kick was a low blow, back there in the car after you were arrested. I think I'll just show _you _the pain I went through. Maybe that'll teach that bastard kid not to mess with the big boys." Marik heard the smile in his voice. Yes, his father would enjoy this. "I'll just _wreck _who he holds so dear in his slimy, little heart."

Wreck? Oh, Gods, how Marik was regretting not staying with Odion. Why did he have to be so…stupid? He'd known he was going to get beaten senseless as soon as he entered the place. He clenched his teeth together, tightly gripping two handfuls of his own hair and curling up tighter.

He felt a sharp kick to his side, which knocked him over. His head hit the floor quite hard, sending a jolt of pain down his spine, totally erasing the throbbing in his kidney. But not for long. He was kicked again, and again, and again in the same spot in his side.

He closed his eyes as tight as they would go, and pulled on his own blonde locks. "Stop!" He screamed, but to no avail. His shout fell upon uncaring ears

He whimpered in pain and recoiled away when he was hit, harder than before, again in his kidney.

"Oh, 's that all ya' got, kid? What a pansy." His father said with another mind-numbing kick.

"You don't know real pain." His father insisted, in a raspy, accented voice. "Real pain is emotional pain. This shit is nothing. You want me to show you _real fucking pain_?"

Marik shook his head harshly, causing the forming bump to throb and bang against his brain, begging for attention.

His dad laughed, sounding a little more insane than usual. "You're stupid. You're useless. Why do you even come back here? I hate you. I hated you from the day you killed _her_, and I will always hate you, just like that BASTARD Odion!"

He landed another splitting kick, and Marik thought that if he was hit there one more time, he'd start vomiting blood.

"I hate you so much. No, I _loathe _you from the very center of my being. In fact, I _loathe _you so much, I am going to give you the worst kind of pain." He kicked Marik's back, causing him to snap out of his ball formation. He kneeled down and pushed Marik roughly into a crawl position. The younger boy didn't fight, even though he knew what was coming. His father had never gone this far before, but he could tell what was about to happen.

His dad stepped roughly on his neck so Marik would be blinded, but still in his bent-over state. He removed his own trousers (Marik heard the clinging of the belt, the _whip_ of the zipper, and the whoosh of air as they were discarded to the side) and then moved to Marik.

_No, _he thought. _This is not happening. I'm…I'm at the Institution, talking to Bakura. Yeah. We're talking…and he—_

Marik's thoughts were cut off by, well, by his shirt being removed. But it wasn't being pulled over his head, rather cut off by a knife. What was his father planning? First a hint at anal rape, and now…whatever this was?

And then he knew.

The belt hit him hard, emitting a _snap _as it mercilessly attacked his darkened skin. This happened about thirty more times (By then, Marik's back was covered in blood) until he felt his own pants being removed, by the same knife that had apparently stolen his shirt. Was his dad really that lazy, or did he just feel that knives and whips were erotic?

Knowing his father's sadistic take on…everything, it was probably the latter.

Marik tightened every muscle he was in control of, hoping to complicate things for his father, but unfortunately, it didn't really work. He didn't know how long his father went on, but it was painful, both physically and emotionally, for the young blonde Egyptian, whose innocence was being defiled and then tossed to the side, laughed at and ridiculed.

..

The next morning, Marik woke up hurting. Everywhere. His back, his neck, his chest, his head, his kidneys (especially), his _heart_…

He was breathing heavily, almost panting, as he lay in the dirty, beer bottle-littered floor of his house, his clothes in a bloody pile beside him, cut in jagged lines.

_What is…?_

His eyes widened in realization.

_Oh, no. No, no, no. That was a dream, dumbass, _he told himself.

The pain in his lower regions screamed otherwise.

He gasped, lifting his hands to his face to stare at them, dumbfounded and revolted. His father—his own _flesh and blood_—had stolen his innocence. And it wasn't a dream. It hadn't been the night before (Marik was a little screwed up, but he'd never dream up something so horrible) and it wasn't now. Marik knew the difference between genuine, solid emotions and a surreal dream, a figment of his own imagination.

Unable to bear the thought of standing up, he ran his hands down his body, checking the damage. There were several wounds on his chest, but no blood. Only scabs. Well, some might have been dried blood clinging to his bruised, reddened skin rather than actual wounds. He couldn't tell.

He flinched away from his own touch when he reached his left side. He remembered briefly being kicked multiple times. And the pain, oh, the pain…

He clenched his teeth together, sitting up. His body reacted immediately, but he managed to ignore the jolting ache while he stood up, and walked to his room to get some clothes. Clothes that would hide the marks on his skin, the damage.

Well, he'd found that to be quite a feat, as he had a long, red scab across his cheek, a blackened bruise on his forehead, a busted lip, and a gash on his jaw line. He also had a burn on his palm. He wondered where that came from briefly, before choosing a black wool cap he had stuffed in the back of his dresser when he was twelve (thank the gods for stretchable fabric) to hide the bruise on his forehead, and a dark green turtleneck (even though it was spring) that hugged his frame, which he normally would have welcomed, aside from the fact that he still had irritated, open wounds on his back. He dug in his dresser for a pair of boxers, slid them on carefully, and went to his closet for a pair of his loosest-fitting jeans.

Once he found a decent pair that had no holes, he slipped into them gently and grabbed the shirt (he'd tossed it onto his un-made bed) and carefully burrowed into it, trying his best not to annoy the cuts on his back, or move his hips too much, otherwise his kidneys would start to hurt worse than they already did, which Marik, even though he _wasn't_ a pansy, had to admit was pretty damn bad.

After getting all his clothes on, then going to the bathroom to make sure he was concealed, he ran as fast as his tender, black-and-blue legs would take him outside to his motorcycle. He needed to get back to Odion's place before Dad woke up.

He scowled at himself. How could still think of _that_ _man _as dad after what he'd done?

He shook it off, saving the thought for later. Right now, he needed to get his wounds treated. It was Thursday, so Odion had the day off, thankfully.

He didn't have to endure _anything_ alone- including the emotional turmoil he was sure to be in once it sank in the he'd been _raped_-thanks to his brother.

**A/N: Sad chapter…I feel terrible for practically raping Marik. I hope he's not too angry with me…**


	8. Open Wounds

**A/N: I love typing Odion's name. That's why I say it so much when he makes an appearance. I don't mean to, I just do…**

Marik beat on Odion's door with his fist, too tired and in too much pain to get the key out of his shoe. He leaned on the wall for support, listening for a rustling on the other side of the door that told him Odion would be there soon.

The door _clitch_ed unlocked, and opened. Odion's baggy eyes narrowed in confusion when he saw his younger brother. "Marik, do you have any idea what time it is?"

He shook his head. He had no watch, but it was dark out, which told him it was either really late or really early.

"Why are you—" Odion cut himself off, upon seeing the awkward way Marik was positioning himself, and how he was wearing a turtleneck shirt in the middle of spring. "You made him mad."

It wasn't a question.

Marik nodded anyway, avoiding Odion's eyes.

"How's the damage?" Odion moved out of the doorway to allow Marik entrance.

Marik decided to wait to tell Odion about how far his father had gone. "Pretty bad."

He let his older brother lead him into the bathroom, where he sat down on the counter. This had become a regular routine with them. When Marik need his wounds fixed up, he went to Odion's place.

"Where is it the worst?" Odion said, trying his best to smile supportively.

Marik considered the question. "My back."

"Take your shirt off." **(1) **Odion commanded, digging in the cabinet for the first aid kit.

Marik scowled. He'd known he was going to have to undress, but he hadn't been looking forward to it, as the cloth would rub his wounds open. He delicately slipped out of his shirt, tossing it aside on the toilet.

When his older brother turned and saw the damage on Marik's back, he couldn't hold back a gasp. "What did he hit you with?"

"A belt…" Marik whispered, letting his hair curtain his face as he looked down at his clenched fists.

"Your skin looks horrible. It's ripped everywhere. Where'd that bruise come from?" Odion observed the cuts and reddened skin on his brother's back. Before Marik could respond to the question, Odion said "Turn around."

"Dad's foot." He answered, doing as he was asked. Marik felt something cold and wet—and _painful_—splash across his back. Probably something to clean out the wounds. He tried not to flinch away as Odion rubbed the cool liquid into his cuts. After a minute, when he thought he couldn't stand it anymore, Odion smeared some sort of (magic, life-saving) ointment all over his back. It calmed the pain a lot, and made it almost bearable.

He couldn't hold back a sigh of relief.

"Sorry, brother. We have to clean them out or they'll get infected."

"I know." Marik frowned. "But that stupid wash hurts worse than the cuts themselves."

He heard Odion chuckle. "But it helps. And the cream should make it better."

"Why can't you just use water to wash that horrible antibacterial crap out after you use it?" he asked, deciding he had every right in the world to complain a little.

"There are bacteria in water, Marik. It's basic first-aid." Odion stated matter-of-factly. Changing the direction of the conversation, Odion asked, "Where else?"

"Well, er, I guess that's the only really bad part, aside from the bruise which I guess can't really be treated and this burn." Marik held his hand behind him for Odion to see.

"Whoa, that's a pretty bad burn. Where did it come from?"

"I don't remember." Marik answered honestly.

"Turn around." Odion told him again.

Marik nodded, and repositioned himself on the counter so he was looking at the wall. Odion grabbed his hand, and turned on the faucet. Much to Marik's pleasure, Odion thrust his hand under the icy cold water.

But then he realized something.

"Isn't there bacteria in that water?" He asked, smirking as best he could. At least he still had a few jokes left in him.

Odion rolled his eyes. "Do you want it to hurt?"

The younger brother shook his head, letting his half-hearted smirk fall. He winced when Odion shut the water off, once again revealing the burn to the warm air. He closed his eyes when he saw his brother reaching for some sort of ointment, and gasped in pain when he started rubbing it into the burn.

He wrapped Marik's hand in a bandage, four times up his wrist, three times around his palm and then used cream-colored medial tape to hold it down.

"Ah, thanks." Marik said, jumping off of the counter.

"Wait." Odion held an arm out to stop him from leaving. "I want to bind your chest, too, so you don't get ointment all over your clothes."

Marik's eyes widened. "Jeez, do you have that much?"

Odion rolled his eyes again. "You're not _that_ buff, brother."

Marik normally would have flexed his muscles and smirked, but he really wasn't in the mood. He sighed and held his arms out so Odion could have better access to his chest.

..

Several minutes later, Odion had finished dressing Marik's wounds, including putting a small, neon green band-aid over the gash on his face, against the will of Marik. He ignored the thin cut on his jaw line, as it was too shallow to worry about.

"So there's nothing else at all? No more cuts that need tending, or bruises that need to be iced?" Odion crossed his arms.

Marik shook his head, gripping the ice pack that he was holding against the bruise on his side. He'd completely abandoned his shirt, deciding that he didn't feel like putting it back on.

Of course, there was one more gaping wound that would eventually cause him to bleed to death unless he said something. Too bad it couldn't be healed simply by ointments, or cold, bacteria-infected water.

Just as Odion decided Marik wasn't going to answer and asked, "Are you hungry?" Marik said, "Dad went a lot further than he usually does."

Odion eyed him cautiously, completely forgetting his own words. "What do you mean?"

Marik was silent for a minute, trying to find the words. "He…he _raped _me, Odion."

His voice broke on "raped", and he felt the bile rising in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, looking down to hide his struggle against tears from Odion.

Odion felt the anger bubble in his stomach, slowly but very surely rising to his mouth, enabling words. "That son of a bitch."

Marik felt a tear slip past his defenses, crashing to the floor in a slow-motion display of his defeat.

Odion couldn't decide whether he should be angry or sad, as he saw the tear but made no mention of it. He only took his brother in his arms and squeezed tight, letting Marik's tears ruin his shirt. His brother needed him, and he was there.

..

Later, Marik had found out that it was around four a.m. when he'd knocked on Odion's door. He decided to stay home from school, much preferring to sleep all day on Odion's couch, occasionally waking up to choking on his own tears or Odion trying to get him to eat something. He usually ignored the offers, turning over to go back to sleep.

Until, at around one thirty, he roused again to Odion shaking his leg. "You have to go to the Institution today, Marik. You can't skip out on this, I'm sorry."

Marik said something that even he didn't understand and turned over…

Unfortunately for him, he turned a bit too far and landed face first into the carpet. He didn't get up for a while, not until Odion threw Marik's shirt on Marik's back, telling him that he needed to get up and go, otherwise he'd be late.

Marik groaned, flipping over and sitting up. "I don't want to go anywhere."

Odion almost flinched at his brother's appearance. His eyes were still irritated and puffy from crying all day (Odion had been surprised by his brother's breakdown, even though he shouldn't have. He'd been raped. He had every right to cry.), his long hair was tangled and sticking up more than usual, and his fiery eyes had been dulled considerably, to more of an abandoned coal than an alive, blazing fire that roared and clawed at the air at random, uncontainable.

"Marik, I'm sorry. You have to." Odion helped Marik back into his shirt, then grabbed his hand to pull him up on his feet.

Marik put his hand on his head, feeling for his wool cap. "Where's my hat?" He asked, when he felt only messy hair.

"You took it off while you were sleeping earlier. I guess it got hot, or something. Check between the couch cushions." Odion suggested, while rushing down the hallway to the bathroom for a brush.

Marik dug down deep between them, but found only his melted ice pack. He cussed under his breath, rubbing his face with both hands. He just wanted to go back to sleep…

He felt a rough tug on his hair. "Ow!" He screamed, pulling away.

"I'm just brushing your hair, Marik." Odion calmed him.

"Don't. It's fine." Marik insisted, stepping away from his brother, who had walked up behind him.

Odion shook his head. "Have you looked in a mirror since this morning, brother? You look deathly ill."

Marik's brow creased, and he made his way to the bathroom to look in the mirror.

He gasped at his own horrible reflection, and reached out to caress his own cheek in the mirror, just to make sure it was really him he was seeing.

It was.

Odion walked into the room behind him, handing him the brush. He took it gratefully, and raked through his long hair several times. After he decided his platinum blonde locks looked somewhat _decent, _he turned on the faucet and splashed the cold water on his face, rubbing the dried tears out of his eyelashes.

"Look at me, I'm such a mess." Marik frowned at himself in the mirror after drying his face only to realize that it hadn't helped with the red, irritated skin, or his bloodshot eyes.

"You can't help it." Odion said, squeezing Marik's shoulder.

Marik was silent. He shook Odion's hand off and walked back out to the TV room. "I'm just gonna go. Thanks…for everything, Odion."

That sounded too much like a permanent good-bye to Odion. "You'll be back, right?"

Marik nodded, searching the couch one more time for his hat. "I'm sure as hell not going back…back _there._" His home held too many tragic memories now. He never wanted to go back. His father probably wouldn't miss him. He'd probably find some whore to beat when Marik didn't ever show up again.

Because he wasn't planning on going back. He'd stay with Odion, and after he was done with his community service, he'd drop out of school and get a job…

"I'm sorry, Marik." Odion whispered, biting his lip.

Marik shook his head. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have gone back."

"It's your _house_. You had every right to be there, and to be safe. It's that…" Odion cut himself off before he lost his temper. "Just go. You'll be late. I'll try to find that hat while you're gone."

"Okay." Marik said, rushing out of the room. Maybe if he had some hard work to do, it would take his mind off of…everything.

..

Marik wiped a pool of sweat from his brow with a shaking, weak hand. The roar of the lawn mower was the only sound he could hear in the fenced-in backyard of the Domino Institution.

He would have taken his shirt off to fight the heat as he cut the grass, had he not been covered in bandages he'd much rather keep hidden to avoid questions. And he was pretty sure that the nurses were watching him through the windows, as every time he turned, he saw movement in them from the corner of his eye. It sort of made him want to walk over to the window and flip them off. All he wanted to was to be alone so he could set his mind to his work and absolutely nothing else, especially a horde of fan girls stalking him from a window.

He ran over the last bush of uncut grass, then let the mower cut itself off. It was a manual push mower, instead of one you rode on, but Marik didn't mind. He enjoyed pushing his limits, the feeling of his muscles moving under his skin.

He wiped his face with his sleeve, removing the sweat. He was shaking, weak from the sudden physical exertion after sleeping all day.

He felt terrible. And the work wasn't helping with his _problem_, as he'd hoped.

He'd already been at the Institution for over an hour, so at least he'd be able to leave soon. He felt his stomach wiggle a little, out of nerves or excitement he didn't know. He sort of wanted to go see Bakura, but he really needed to go home.

He shook his head roughly, trying to shake away his thoughts. Why was he thinking about Bakura? It wasn't really the right time for something like that. Right now, he had to focus on his work. He moved to go back inside, but his knees gave and he fell face first into the grass with a _thump_.

"Weakling!" He yelled, clawing into the grass and ripping it out of the ground in his anger.

The bruise on his side was throbbing from the shock of hitting the ground, but he ignored it as best he could and tried to stand up. His efforts were useless, though, as his knees refused to support his weight. He buried his face in the grass, once again letting his hands rip the green blades from the ground to express his fury and humiliation.

He was such a mess.

After staying like that for a while, he heard a voice.

"What are you doing lying on the ground like that, son? We still have work." It was Doc. Marik could tell just by the jolly tone in his voice, and the sound of that annoying chuckle.

"We?" Marik didn't lift his head to look at the doctor. "I don't recall you doing anything."

"I work behind the scenes, kiddo. Get used to it." Doc clapped his hands together. "Now, guess what?"

Marik grunted in response.

"You get to do laundry! We have some sheets that need replaced, so we're going to have to get some of the old ones from the storage room. They haven't been moved in years, so I'm sure they're pretty dirty. I'm going to need you to wash them."

Marik lifted his head, and tried to get up, only to fail once again. He cussed rather loudly, earning a laugh from Doc.

"Stop laughing at me." He ordered, his head lifted so he could glare at the doctor.

"Sorry…" Doc held his chuckles behind a wry smile. "Did you pull another all-nighter or something?"

"Hardly." Marik laughed bitterly, deciding not to tell Doc about sleeping all day, as that would make him ask why, and Marik did _not_ want to talk about it.

Doc held out a hand, smiling kindly. "C'mon, kid. You've got work to do."

Marik took it, and, much to his disgust, let Doc pull him up on his feet and keep a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Thanks." He muttered.

Doc ignored the pleasantries. "What's wrong with you?"

Marik let himself be lead to the entrance. "It's nothing. I just haven't eaten today. That's probably all."

Doc sighed. "You know what, I'll wash the sheets. Let's go to the lounge. We have some food leftover from lunch, and you can—"

"No, thanks." Marik shook his head. "I'm not hungry." He really wasn't, but not eating was the best excuse he had for being so weak and broken down….aside from the truth.

"Then what's wrong with you?" Doc grabbed both of Marik's shoulders, looking him in the eyes.

"Nothing! I'm fine."

"You sure? I can help."

"No, you can't. Just forget about it. I don't want to talk." Marik shook his head, pulling out of the doctor's grasp.

Doc narrowed his eyes. What was with this kid? First, he collapses behind the building, then he says he hasn't eaten all day, but he isn't hungry, and now he refuses to take help from someone willing to share his experience and wisdom? Well, he wasn't really all that wise, but he was pretty experienced with the trials of life.

"Fine. You don't have to tell me, but you're going to eat something. Last thing I need is a starving employee to work himself to death."

Marik glared at the older man, but didn't protest. It would be good for him to eat.

..

A few minutes later, Marik had a plate of heated spaghetti and a glass of water sitting in front of him on the round, wooden table in the lounge. Doc sat across from him, watching the Egyptian pick at the food with a plastic fork.

"Marik, please eat it. Look at you, your hand is shaking!" Doc had a genuinely concerned look on his face, but Marik met it with a gaze of venom. "I don't know what happened to traumatize you so much, but not eating won't help at all."

"Don't you think I know that?" He answered, moving his stare to the food in front of him. Normally, it would have been long gone by now, but Marik felt his stomach gurgle in distaste at the sight of the food.

"If you do, then why not eat?"

Marik scowled. Was it so wrong that he didn't want to talk about being raped to a practical stranger? That he just wanted to be alone for a minute?

After discovering that Marik wasn't going to answer, Doc said, "So, who hit you?"

The young boy's hand reached up to cover the bruise on his forehead. "I got in a fight at school."

"Don't lie."

"I'm not."

"You said you slept all day, therefore you didn't go to school."

Marik stood up, pushing his chair back so hard that it fell over and hit the floor. "It's none of your damn business!"

For a moment, Doc stared at him in shocked silence. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I'd hit a nerve. Please, sit down."

Slowly, Marik picked up the chair and resumed his prior position, but not because Doc told him to. His knees had begun to rattle as soon as he stood up again, and he didn't want to fall over. He was sure that the tile was much harder than the grass outside.

They sat in silence for a while, until Marik finally got up the nerve to take a bite of the spaghetti and Doc started laughing quietly. Marik sent him a glare, while he let his stomach decide whether or not he was going to take another bite of food.

It decided that he should.

Within the next five minutes, Marik had finished the food, and his hands and knees stopped shaking. He stood up and stretched his muscles. "What time is it?"

"Five 'till." Doc answered with a glance at his watch.

"Should I just…?" Marik felt a little hope light up in his mind. He had decided that he would go see Bakura, and he wanted to do it soon. Maybe the white-haired boy would help distract his mind.

"No. I still want you to put those sheets in the washer, since you have time. I know _I _don't want to do it." Doc said with a smirk. "Storage is—"

"I know where it is. You had me clean it, remember?"

"Not that one. That's where I keep all my useless crap. This room's bigger." Doc explained the directions, and Marik committed them to memory. "And the washer is right there." Doc pointed across the room, where two hunks of painted-white metal stood.

"I know, I know." Marik waved a hand. Doc had forgotten that he'd used the washer before, when he washed the curtains in the examination room with Sierra a few days ago.

Marik turned to leave, but stopped at the sound of Doc's voice.

"If you ever need to talk, I'm here."

Marik nodded, lifting a hand in good-bye, and exiting the room.

..

By the time he got back to the lounge, dusty, moldy sheets in tow, Doc wasn't there anymore. He listened to the silence as he started the washer. He dropped the sheets on the floor, pouring soap that was sitting on the side of the dryer into the already-filling metal bowl. He leaned against the wall, his eyes closed as he waited for the 'click' that sounded when it was full and ready for the sheets.

Marik shoved them into the washer, closing the door. He wiped his dusty hands on his shirt as he walked down the hall, on his way to Bakura's room.

He stuffed the key into the lock, turning it and opening the door.

He sighed in relief as Bakura's familiar aura of bloody knives and cruel smiles washed over him.

"Whose boyfriend did _you_ piss off?" The white-haired boy asked in his inappropriate accent, commenting on the black bruise on Marik's forehead.

If anyone else had said that to him, he would have beat them up.

"Hah-hah. That's very funny, Bakura. You're a natural comedian." Marik rolled his eyes, sitting down on the floor beside his bed.

"I was serious."

Marik raised an eyebrow at the other boy. "It was my dad, if you must know."

"Your father has a boyfriend?" Bakura chuckled, somehow managing to make the usually jolly noise sound dark.

"Are you kidding?"

It was Bakura's turn to roll his eyes. "Yes. So what did you do to anger your father?"

Marik let out a laugh. "I came home."

"Ah, you should be ashamed of yourself." Bakura smirked at him, sitting up to get a better view of the younger boy.

"What has you so happy today, Bakura?"

"Happy?" Bakura played with the word. "What would make you think I'm happy?"

"You keep joking."

"That first comment wasn't a joke."

"But everything after it was." Marik stretched his long legs out in front of him.

"I'm not joking right now." Bakura sneered, showing off pointed teeth.

"You may as well be, with that look on your face." Marik said, crossing his arms.

Bakura let his face fall into a glare, surprising Marik with the sudden change of mood. "I'm not really happy. More like entertained."

"Entertained?" Marik repeated.

"Yes. It means—"

"I know what it means, Bakura." Marik interrupted another of Bakura's odd jokes. "What has you entertained?"

Bakura scowled. "Haven't we already gone through this? You amuse me."

Like the day not too long ago, he wondered if Bakura was giving him a compliment or not. He ignored the thought, breaking into a smirk. "You amuse me, too."

"Is that so?" Bakura laughed, sounding ever so menacing. "Most people find me rather boring."

Marik frowned in thought. What was boring about this mysterious, bone-chilling boy with the voice that sounded raspy and unused and the hair that was so messy, it almost defied the laws of gravity?

And then it hit him. "That's because you don't open up to anyone."

"That's because it's no one's business." Bakura retorted immediately.

"You opened up to me. Does that make it mine?" Marik looked into Bakura's eyes, searching for some sort of emotion other than odd amusement or cold hatred. He found nothing.

"No. It just means you know more about me than anyone else here, as you were given a first-hand monologue about everything that happened."

"So you haven't even told Sierra what you told me?" Marik felt…special. Bakura had complimented him immensely by sharing his story with him and only him, whether the white-haired boy knew it or not.

Bakura shook his head. "She was filled in by my father. There's no need for me to waste my breath."

"Doc?"

Bakura raised an eyebrow at Marik. "I'm sure he was told, too."

"So I'm the only person you've ever shared that story with?" Marik smirked.

"_Yes_. You ask a lot of questions, boy." Bakura emphasized the "yes" with his best _stop being such a dumbass _tone.

"It's a good thing they entertain you." Marik quipped, winking.

Bakura chuckled. "Touché."

They sat in a comfortable silence, before Marik stood up.

"Where are you going?" Bakura asked. Marik could tell he was trying to sound uninterested.

"Home."

"Back to your father?" Bakura raised an eyebrow, that smirk (_his _smirk) creeping back on to his face.

The question made Marik realized he hadn't thought about the rape one time since Bakura asked about his father having a boyfriend. "No. I'm going to my brother's place." Marik turned to leave. "I'll be back on Saturday, Bakura."

"Okay. I'll try to not go anywhere." He kidded.

Marik let himself laugh, a happy, genuine laugh, as he shut the door to Bakura's room behind him.

He smiled the whole ride back to Odion's place. Why did Bakura have this affect on him? Earlier, he'd been _crying_, actually _crying_—something he never _ever_ did, but after seeing Bakura, he was…happy? After everything he'd been through, Bakura, a crazy guy locked up forever in a mental institution, had been able to cheer him up. Marik knew there was a lot wrong with the concept, but he allowed himself to give it the cold shoulder. He was happy, and so was Bakura, according to his jesting manor.

And that, he figured, was all that mattered.

**A/N: **

**1: I wish I were Odion.**

**PLEASE READ****:**__

**I'm wondering, should I change the rating to this story back to T, or leave it M? I mean, there is a lot of gore (and there will be plenty more) and some rape, but does that make it qualify as M? I wasn't really very graphic about anything. Not as much as I could have been, anyway. But readers know best! Tell me what you guys think! You're opinions are greatly appreciated.**


	9. Present

**A/N: Hurray for short character/relationship-building chapters…! (I have a few more fluff chapters planned before we get into the actual romance…) Sorry this is so dang short. It's only a little over 2,200 words. I've had a bit of writer's block recently, honestly.**

**The large collection of **_Italic _**is a dream Marik had the night that this chapter takes place. Please, no confusion! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!**

_Almost__three__weeks later (Wednesday, week five), the Institution…_

Marik was way too aware of the weight of his school bag slung over his shoulder, a clear smirk stretching his facial muscles. Normally, he would have left his backpack at Odion's place, since he went there to change out of his uniform every day, anyway (he found regular clothes to be more comfortable, and it wasn't like he was rushed on time after school). But not today, no.

It was the end of his two hour shift for weekdays, and he was on his way to see Bakura. The thought made his smirk widen.

Today, he had a present for the white-haired boy.

Reaching the door, he pulled his key out of his shoe, letting his mind briefly wonder how he was yet to be noticed going into the forbidden room. It wasn't like he was bothering to be subtle about it. There's no way the other workers were so _oblivious_.

With a click, the door opened. Marik offered Bakura a smile, upon seeing him sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed. Bakura, who had gotten so used to Marik's visits, didn't even glance up at the door, much less return the smile.

"I've got something for you, Bakura." Marik chuckled, reaching into his school bag.

Bakura's head raised in curiosity, cocking an eyebrow at the Egyptian.

"Close your eyes."

Bakura smirked deeply, his eyes not even twitching. "You're not planning anything dirty, are you? I hadn't realized that's what this was." He said mockingly.

Marik felt his face overheat as an image pushed its way into his mind.He shooed the thoughts away, and looked up at the ceiling to hide his _(stupid)_ blush. "No, it's—Just close your eyes."

Bakura admired Marik's reaction for a moment (he _loved _messing with people's heads) before shutting his eyes. He felt the bed dip almost immediately, then heard a rustle…Marik's breathing near his left ear. It tickled, he noted, but quickly tossed the thought away.

And then there was a yank on his hair from behind him, hard and painful. He didn't call out, instead just gasping in surprise and yanking away.

"Calm down…" Marik put a hand on his back. "It's just a hair brush. Jeez. Has it really been thatlong since you brushed your hair?"

Bakura sent him a poisonous snarl. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm in a straight jacket, _fool_."

The toxic emphasis on "fool" made Marik frown. Bakura had always enjoyed insulting Marik's intelligence for some reason, but this time the tone of his voice was not bitter amusement, but cruelty. "Someone could do it for you." Marik offered, glad that Bakura had not turned around to see his upset face.

Bakura growled-an actual inhuman, throaty growl—and shifted under Marik's hand, which was still resting on his back, right under where the tips of his damaged, white hair reached.

Marik ignored his snarl, and moved in for another stroke of the brush. He felt Bakura's muscles tense up, so he moved slower, hoping that he didn't hurt the older boy again.

Marik didn't really know why he'd felt the need to go out a buy (yes, buy. He'd nobly borrowed money from his brother) a brush for Bakura. Maybe it was his odd attachment to him that he'd felt since the first time he saw him, or maybe it was his curiosity about how he looked…clean. Not that he wanted to change Bakura. That wasn't the case at all—he'd bet his life on it. Just play with him a little bit…

He felt Bakura flinch as he hit another tangle.

"Sorry…" He muttered, gently brushing through the ball of knotted hair.

Bakura was silent for the rest of the time Marik was brushing his hair. Marik wondered if his silence was because he wasn't used to being primped, or because he was trying to hold in his anger so that he didn't rip through his binding jacket and strangle Marik to death.

He hoped it was the former.

Marik smirked, setting the brush tenderly on the bed. "Hah!"

Bakura shook his hair out. He turned to face Marik, who was smiling triumphantly at his work. Before he could say anything, though, Marik poked his jaw to make him turn back around.

"I'm not done yet!"

Bakura hesitated, something he rarely, if ever, did. "What else are you going to do?"

He heard Marik chuckle. "You'll see."

Of course, at this reaction to his question, Bakura couldn't help but worry about what was going on in the other boy's head. But, oddly, at the same time, his stomach roiled in curiosity. There was something about the blonde that always kept Bakura wondering. Not that he'd ever admit it aloud. He was Bakura, the mysterious, cold patient who was to be feared. He wasn't supposed to _care_ about _people_.

Bakura was so deep in his own thoughts, he hadn't even noticed that Marik had finished whatever he was doing with his hair.

"Bakuuura?" Marik held out his name, trying to catch his attention.

"What?"

"I finished." Marik smirked at him, and pulled a hand mirror (again, bought with borrowed money) out of his backpack. He held it in front of Bakura's face, so he could see his own reflection.

Finally, he said, "I look like Care Bear vomit."

Marik laughed, gripping his own stomach with his free hand.

Bakura continued to stare at his reflection. His hair, it seemed, had been braided**(1)** and slung over his shoulder, held together at the bottom by a red ribbon, tied in a fat bow. He looked ridiculous, not like Bakura, the mysterious, cold patient who was to be feared!

"Take it out." He commanded.

"Why? You look—" Marik cut himself off. He'd almost said…cute. Marik's brow creased. Had he ever even said that word before?

Bakura waited for him to continue, but lost his patience rather quickly. "Take it out."

Marik blinked back into reality. "Uh, yeah. Okay." He took the surprisingly long braid in his hands and untied the bow, combing through it with his fingers.

"What am I going to tell Doc and Sierra when they come in here later to bring me dinner? My hair isn't messy anymore. They're going to know _something_ happened." Bakura pointed out as Marik finished up with his rough, white locks.

Marik raised an eyebrow as Bakura turned to face him. "Do you think I'm an idiot? It's just as easy to mess up hair as it is to fix it."

Marik sneered, whipping the brush out.

"Don't you dare touch me with that thing." Bakura warned, scooting away from him on the bed.

"You act like I'm going to hurt you."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

A few minutes of wrestling later, Marik had succeeded in pinning Bakura against the wall (literally—his cheek was pressed roughly against the clean white paint), and was frantically ripping through his hair with the brush, trying his best not to hurt Bakura. He was sure that if he did, the other boy would make him regret it.

And he was positive the only reason he'd been able to overpower Bakura was because of the straight jacket.

A ton of swipes at Bakura's head with the brush later, Marik was satisfied with how messy he'd made Bakura's white hair. He found himself bursting into hysterics. He enjoyed messing with the older boy-that much he figured out in the very first week he'd known him. For some reason, he loved making Bakura's eyes portray some sort of emotion, and it seemed that he could only do that through surprises or by angering him.

He preferred the former.

"Ge' off me."

"Huh?" Marik eyed Bakura, who was still pinned tight against the wall by Marik's body. "Oh."

He released his hold on Bakura's shoulder and backed off of him, getting off of the bed so Bakura could make himself comfortable again.

His hair looked enough like it had before not to arouse suspicion, but the flesh on the side of his face that had been pressed against the wall was tinted red.

"Are you okay?" Marik asked, even though he knew if Bakura had just _cooperated_, he'd be fine.

He was answered with a glare, which drew a short laugh from him.

Of course, Bakura saw no humor in the situation. He looked angry enough to kill. He opened his mouth to speak, and Marik was prepared for a stinging stream of insults and obscenities. None came. Instead, he said, "Where did you learn to braid?"

Marik, shocked, had trouble finding words. "My sister taught me a while back so I could braid her hair for a party."

"How manly."

Marik rolled his eyes. "At least I can _use_ my hands."

Bakura scoffed. "You aim low."

The Egyptian grinned widely, flashing his pearl-white teeth. "So do you."

Marik ended the small, playful argument there. He had to go, as he was sure he'd been with Bakura for over half an hour. His visits had become increasingly longer over the last few weeks, and Odion had started asking about his being late to come home. He figured no one really _had_ to know about his meetings with Bakura, and decided to keep them from even his brother. So as far as Odion knew, Marik had only seen Bakura once, maybe twice.

In other words, the visits were his own dirty, little secret, and that's how he planned to keep it.

..

_Marik stood in front of the window, leaning on the windowsill to get a better view of the light rain outside. He wasn't sure where he was, as it wasn't a place he'd ever seen before. Even through the rain, he could see a small hill surrounded by a field, green with fresh, healthy grass. He surveyed the scene. It was beautiful, even though the rain usually would have made it seem lonely, foreboding. _

_Once again tracing the scene with his eyes, he noticed something on the hill. He squinted, leaning forward to get a better look. _

_It was a…person._

_And suddenly Marik was outside, standing in the rain. It was weird; he could see the rain, but could not feel it on his shoulders. _

_He felt himself walking toward the hill. He stared up at the person. The only clear thing he could see was that they were wearing an orange top hat—how strange. As he came closer, he could make out a green blazer—tacky, much?—and black pants. They were facing away from him, so he was able to see (could it be?) long, tangled white hair trailing down the person's back. _

_And then the sun came out. _

_It shone on the person, who Marik could now tell was definitely Bakura (there was absolutely no mistaking that white hair), and should have blinded Marik. But it didn't. He stared up at Bakura on the hill, taking clumsy steps closer to him. _

_He tried to call out, but his voice was lost._

_But, Bakura, seemingly noticing Marik anyway, turned so Marik could see the left side of his face. He tipped his hat in greeting (or was it a good bye?), a cat-like smile of mischief and black knowledge occupying his face._

_And then, before Marik could try his voice again, Bakura was carried away by the gentlest of winds. The wind blew on his face, ruffling his hair as he stared in shock that the older boy was gone. _

_He didn't get a chance to linger long, as the wind suddenly became harder, and he was turned violently…_

…_right into the arms of Bakura, who was still wearing his cat smile._

_They stared at each other for a moment, before the scene turned into a bed room—Marik's old one at his father's house. Bakura disappeared, leaving Marik alone._

_And, as if things weren't odd enough, he leaned down from his seat on the corner of the bed. He surveyed the dirtied floor, looking for his shoes. He didn't know why he was looking for them, but he knew he was supposed to be. He saw one, the left one, but not the right one. He searched his room more…but it wasn't there._

_His right shoe was lost, missing._

_He sat up straight, and—_

Marik's eyes opened to a dark room, aside from a faint, flickering light form the TV beside him. It was muted…

Why? He was sure he'd been watching it before bed. Why would he have muted it?

Turning over, he felt an odd pain in his side. He dug under him, finding something hard.

The…remote?

He located the power button and turned the TV off, setting the remote on the coffee table. He sat up, muddily thinking something along the lines of, "what an odd dream". He blinked. Wait, that dream. He'd just had a dream about…Bakura.

Marik never dreamt. The last time he had a dream, he was in kindergarten. He remembered it, sort of. It was a fuzzy vision of him flying over the swing set in his underwear…

He rubbed his forehead. Now was not the time to be thinking about kindergarten. Why had he had a dream about _Bakura_?

Before he could find an answer to his question, he yawned, throwing his arms up high in the air to stretch his unused muscles. He was tired. Maybe…pondering could wait until morning…

He lay back down and, abandoning his blanket, fell asleep once again.

**A/N: I researched a bunch of dream symbols. That's where Marik's dream comes from. So there is some sort of method to my madness. Basically anything I took the time to describe has some sort of meaning, from his lost shoe to the color of Bakura's clothes. I challenge you to interpret it!**

**1: I have ALWAYS wanted to do this. Braid his hair, that is. I don't know why. I guess because it's just so long…and braid-able. **


	10. Confusion on Two Parts

**A/N: Yay, into the double-digit chapters! **

**Gosh, I love describing things so much in writing. I'd have to say that it's one of my favorite parts. So I really, really liked this chapter. So much description!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!**

_The Next Afternoon, the Institution…_

Marik stared at the girl that was sitting on the leather cot like a statue. Her white hair reached her lower back, and covered most of her face. He could still see one of her eyes, blue like the hottest of stars. She wore a white dress, the sleeves long and puffy, covering her hands. A delicate smile wove its way around her lips, as if she were remembering an inside joke with a friend.

She just screamed _innocence_.

He was in the main examination room, along with Doc and Sierra.

"Her name is Kisara." Doc explained. "We just got her. She was transferred from a nearby small town hospital by her family. They said she needs better care."

"Why isn't she in a room?" Marik asked, taking a reluctant step towards her.

Doc chuckled, the sound drawing an angry eyebrow twitch from Marik. Sierra, noticing how Doc had evidently decided not to answer said, "We were going to talk to her for a while before we assigned her a room. We like to take the time to learn more about our patients, maybe find out things other doctors couldn't."

"So, does she have a bad reputation, or something?" Marik, brow cocked, eyed the girl. She looked to be about his age, maybe a bit younger. She was still sitting completely motionless, seemingly unaware of the conversation going on around her. Her eyes were glazed over, saying that her mind was locked in a dream land.

"More or less." Doc didn't explain further.

After a moment, Marik asked another question. "Why am I here?"

"I was thinking that maybe you could talk to her for a while, make her a little bit more comfortable with her new home." Doc paused, sending Marik a teasing smirk. "I mean, you're here. We might as well make you do_ something_."

Marik knew the older man was kidding, but he still felt fuzzy anger mudding his mind. He'd worked harder than he'd ever worked in his _life_ in this place!

Sierra smiled at the two boys. Well, Doc wasn't really a _boy _anymore, but he sure acted like it. It had been her idea to have Marik converse with the new patient. He worked _so_ well with Bakura. Who's to say he couldn't help Kisara? And, lord knows, she needs help. The girl was crazy, crazy, _crazy_. She'd been committed years ago, as her parents had tricked her into a mental evaluation (for her own good, they'd said, as they explained Kisara's story to Sierra) after several displays of her obvious illness.

"Okay. So I just…talk to her?" Marik crossed his arms, uncomfortable. Why were they leaving this to him? How could they be sure he wouldn't just mess her up more?

It was probably a joke, he decided.

"Yes. I'm going to stay here with you guys and Doc's going to go take care of some paperwork." Sierra flashed a smile at her husband, her polished red lips catching the light. "Right, honey?"

Doc, who obviously wanted to do nothing of the sort, pouted. "I guess…" He sighed and left the room.

It wasn't that she was trying to get rid of Doc, but more like she wanted him to finish his work so he wouldn't have to work extra hours. Again.

After the door shut rather loudly, Marik turned to Sierra. "So, mind telling me the real reason I'm here?"

She chuckled. "We already did."

Marik raised a doubting eyebrow.

Sierra shook her head, smiling down at the floor. "Just do your job, Marik."

Marik was beginning to realize that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't a joke. He gazed at Kisara, the statue-girl with the long white hair and the star-blue eyes. She was pretty, he had to admit, with large, guiltless eyes and dark, elegant black eyebrows that strongly contrasted her snowy hair. Her skin was pale, giving her an unhealthy, ghostly air that was quickly covered up by the warmth of her smile and ingenuously delicate frame.

He approached her, gently sitting down beside her on the cot. "Hi, Kisara. I'm—"

He was quickly cut off by the female patient, who decided it to be entertaining to jump him, pinning him against the leather. She gave him a quick smirk before leaning down to rest her lips on his, roughly forcing his mouth open with her own dynamic jaw movements.

Marik would have pulled away, had the leather cot not been blocking his escape. Instead he sent Sierra a desperate plea for help with his eyes. She was staring, shocked, at the two teens.

"Hey! Hey, excuse me!" She said, after a second.

Marik, who'd closed his eyes as tight as he could, felt the girl release him. No, she was pried off of him by Sierra, he realized as he opened one eye to peek at his surroundings.

He heard Sierra start to explain something to Kisara, but he didn't care. "What the _hell _was _that_?" He sat up, raising his arm to wipe Kisara's saliva from his mouth. _Ugh, disgusting…_

That had been his very first kiss, stolen by this girl who he didn't even know.

Sierra eyed him apologetically. "At least she's friendly…" She pointed out with a sheepish grin.

Kisara, however, was staring at him with hungry eyes, obviously wanting more. Her lips curled into a creepy firm smile, her glazed-over eyes set on his plump, red mouth.

Okay, she didn't look as innocent any more.

"_Friendly_? More like—"

"_Marik_!" Sierra cut him off. She was holding Kisara's body backward against her chest, her arms looped tightly around Kisara's midsection. "Let's just try this again. Kisara, don't…do what you just did."

After Kisara nodded, looking disappointed (but still not speaking, Marik noticed), Sierra released her. Marik stiffened his spine instinctively, not allowing himself to be surprised again. Or…was he making too big a deal out of this? It was just a kiss, after all.

Wait! No, it was not _just a kiss_! That had been his very _first _kiss. Once again, he'd let himself be robbed of his innocence. Was he really that pathetic…?

Noticing the troubled expression on Marik's face, Sierra put a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

Marik looked at her for a moment, surprised, before pasting his best fake smile on his face. "Yeah. Just a bit violated."

Sierra chuckled. "I guess that's to be expected."

"I'm hungry." Marik's head snapped to Kisara, who had actually spoken in a soft voice. "Got any monkey?"

Marik's eyes widened."Is she kidding?" He whispered to Sierra.

Her mouth formed a small 'O'. "I'm not…sure."

"You guys are gullible!" Kisara giggled, raising a hand to her mouth. Then she turned suddenly serious. "But I'm still hungry. Just not for monkeys! _Feed me!_"

Marik considered saying something rude, like _Oh, would you prefer _dog_, or maybe _dolphin_?_, but thought better of it. He had to be nice to her, whether he liked it or not.

Sierra gave her a sweet smile. "What do you want, sweetie?"

"Food!"

"Obviously…" Marik muttered under his breath. He felt Sierra gently elbow him in the ribcage. He sent her an apologetic look, silently promising no more smart-aleck comments.

She didn't notice, though. She was focused on Kisara. Marik saw, by the sharp, intelligent glint, how her eyes penetrated the girl's exterior, searching inside her mind.

Scary. Had she done that to him, while he hadn't been paying attention? Marik quickly shook the thought.

"What kind of food?" Sierra asked, her voice frighteningly calm and pleasant.

Kisara thought for a moment. "That kind!" She pointed at Marik, a feral grin occupying her smooth, blemish-free face. She winked suggestively, eliciting a blush from the Egyptian teenager.

He looked at the floor, partly to hide his burning face, and partly to show his disinterest. "That doesn't even really make sense." He garbled.

Sierra didn't bother to stifle her chuckle. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea. You should probably go now, Marik. I'll take care of Kisara."

Marik scowled, his flush slowly dissipating. "What am I supposed to do?"

Sierra frowned, approaching Kisara and grabbing the girl's pale hand. With her free hand, she pointed one manicured finger at the door. "Just go to the lounge. I'm willing to bet my life Doc's there instead of in his office doing his work."

Marik nodded, thinking, _he has an office? Why would he need one? I've never seen him do _any_ work, and I've been here over a month!_

He smirked, leaving the room with a wave at Sierra and Kisara.

..

_After Marik's shift…_

Marik leaned back against the bottom right metal post of Bakura's bed, eyeing the older boy curiously from his odd angle on the floor. He looked…peaceful. His muscles were relaxed, his face calm. His breathing, reduced to an even rise and fall of his torso.

He was asleep.

The only noise in the room was Bakura's heavy breathing. It was so relaxing! Marik couldn't help but stare at the pale Brit, watch his lips move—ever so _faintly_—as oxygen entered his body via his slightly agape mouth. Watch his curled, pianists fingers twitch every few minutes. Watch his exhaling breath push a stray strand of hair from his cheek, only for it to fall back as he inhaled, repeating the cycle.

It was entrancing, like a watching burning campfire thrashing in every which way as you wonder, _What will it do next? _

Marik slithered closer to the other boy's head, crawling along the floor, unable to resist the urge to get a better look at the captivating sight that was _Bakura_.

He rested his arms on the mattress, propping his chin on his forearm so he could look straight into what would usually be Bakura's cacao eyes, but were now two flaps of flawless, alabaster skin.

Marik smirked at the boy. He looked so utterly _helpless_. So unlike himself.

And yet Marik was still just as enthralled as the first time they'd semi-met through the very window that daily supplied Bakura's room with so little light, it took a while for Marik's eyes to adjust to the sudden _darkness_.

But he didn't mind, no matter how much he had to squint. Meeting with the patient was worth it.

Marik's sneer melted into an affectionate smile, though he really didn't notice. He had closed his eyes, letting the Bakura's breathing dominate his senses. He could _feel_ the boy's breath on his left hand. He could _hear _the serene in-out echoing in his mind. Even with his own lids closed, he could _see_ Bakura's face in his mind, so much contrasting the rude, impatient Bakura he was used to, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He could _smell_ Bakura's bitter breath (maybe he had eaten an orange or some other kind of citrus fruit before drifting off, Marik concluded).

And he couldn't help but wonder—what did it _taste _like?

It took a moment for the thought to make sense to Marik, as, at first, the words had seemed foreign and slurred together. But when he realized what he was thinking about, his eyes snapped open, and he fell backward, his back hitting the floor with an agonizing _thud_.

He blinked up at the ceiling, not daring any other movement. Had he woken Bakura?

After a few seconds of eerie, heavy silence, Marik sighed in relief. Bakura was still asleep.

He let out a breathy laugh. He'd gotten a bit carried away while observing Bakura, that's all. He sat up, rubbing his forehead. His back was still hurting, but he chose to ignore it. He'd endured worse pain without complaint, so why get all teary-eyed over a small bruise?

Bakura entered his line of vision again as he stood up, brushing the dirt off his backside.

The boy really _was_ handsome. He was intelligent, too, unlike the half-wit, ass-scratching kids at his school.

He was also very interesting, personality-wise. Marik had never met someone he'd been so eager to get to know, as he had right-off-the-bat with Bakura. And now that he'd befriended the forbidden patient, he wanted _more_. He wanted to know even more about Bakura's troubled past. He wanted to put his hand on Bakura's shoulder, to let him know that someone was there for him. He wanted to feel Bakura's hair one more time, run it through his fingers, smell it…play with it.

Marik grabbed two handfuls of his own fair hair, yanking on it angrily. What was with him today? He walks in on Bakura sleeping, and he starts thinking _wrong_ things?

He felt his face burn, but he couldn't tell if it was from anger at himself or embarrassment at his hormonal thoughts, even though he knew no one else would ever have to know about them.

He gritted his teeth and left the room, headed home.

..

You know how when you first wake up, you don't really know you're awake? You're just lying there, in your bed, groggily swimming in your own thoughts?

That's how Bakura felt as his eyes fluttered, barely able to take in his surroundings. He knew it was his room at the Institution, but it was somehow unfamiliar, as if he was still dreaming.

He knew, of course (he was _Bakura_, for Christ's sake—he didn't miss a beat), that it was his mind waking up, getting back into gear after his rather enjoyable, well-deserved nap. As the gears started turning faster, he began to notice how the shadow cast by his foot hanging off the bed was leaning too far to the right.

It was past five o'clock.

That was his first thought.

Where was the Egyptian boy?

That was his second.

Bakura smirked. It was far too late for him to be here. He'd probably come in, saw Bakura sleeping, and then went home.

He stretched his legs, kicking his sheets to the floor. He ignored it, much preferring to enjoy his post-rest stretch. His underused arms shook, impatient to join in the muscular experimentation.

He ignored that, too.

He let out a yawn, exaggerating it as much as possible by opening his mouth as wide as it would go, and letting out a loud "AHHHHHHCH".

So he wouldn't be seeing the worker-boy today. For some reason, the thought made him frown. Though he would never, ever dare to admit it aloud, the boy provided sufficiently amusing company.

He scowled at the thought, closing his eyes. He needed to clear his mind, change the direction of his thoughts…

_Flashback:_

_Bakura: age six_

"_Brother?" He heard his sister's small voice from the doorway of his room. "I had a nightmare. Can I come in here with you?"_

_He grunted his affirmative. Recently, it had become a nightly routine for his sister to crawl out of her own bed and pad down the hall to his room near ten o'clock at night._

_He scooted over, scowling as his arm touched the freezing wall on the right side of his bed. It sent a shiver down his spine, and it didn't help when Amane lifted the covers so she could crawl under them herself. She snuggled into his side, and Bakura wasn't surprised that, after a moment, she started crying, enough to soak his shirt. _

_He didn't bother to ask her what was wrong. She'd told him the very first night she'd come to sleep in his room with him on his tiny, twin bed that she kept having a recurring nightmare that he—her own brother!—turned on everyone in the household and killed them. _

_How ludicrous. _

_How could she dare dream such a thing? They were his family—he'd never harm them or anyone else! _

_Another round of tears came from Amane, this one strong enough to seep through his cotton pajama top and run down his side. He sighed, sliding his arm around his sister to let her know that he was there, and he always would be. _

_.._

_Bakura: age seven_

_He groaned in agony as he felt another blow to his face. He shrunk back, recoiling away from the older boys he'd run into on the school playground._

"_What s'matter, kid?" The leader sneered, crossing his arms as the other boy, the lackey, raised his fist for another hit. "Had enough? What a wimp!"_

_The lackey landed a blow in the smaller boy's gut, eliciting a loud, high-pitched grunt. _

_His breathing deep and uneven, he reached up to wipe a trail of blood from his chin. The lackey hit his hand away, in the process back-handing the younger boy—seemingly by accident, but the victim knew better. _

"_Get up and fight!" Yelled the leader, angrily stomping the ground like a small kid having a tantrum. _

_He blinked lazily, his vision fuzzy. He should…he should protect himself…_

_He strained his muscles to sit up, feeling pain shoot through his entire body. "Damn…you…" He spat up blood as he slowly crawled to his feet. The lackey, amused, watched, letting him get to his feet without a fight._

_The youngest of the boys took a huge breath, preparing himself to fight. He probably could have taken both those losers at the same time, had they not jumped him from behind. _

"_I'll take…both you bastards without breaking a…sweat!" He pointed at them, challenging either of them to come at him. _

"_You're pretty much half-dead already, kid. Don't bark louder than you can actually bite." The leader smirked, thinking himself to sound clever. _

_The youngest chuckled, the effort taking more energy out of him than he'd expected. "I only need…half strength to beat up a bunch of cowards like you!"_

_With that, the lackey charged. The youngest dodged him with ease, turning just in time to land a kick to the lackey's back, knocking the wind out of him. _

"_Humph." The youngest sneered, not letting his eyes linger on the hunched over figure that was gasping for air on the ground—his handy work. _

_He motioned for the leader to come at him, while licking his lips dangerously, to clean the skin around his mouth. His lip was busted open, and a trail of blood was streaming from his nose rather quickly._

_The leader charged with a scream, enraged that the "kid" had beaten his comrade. He swung his fist for the younger boy's face._

_The white-haired boy caught it with ease, his smirk ever-growing. "Try again."_

_Another punch, just as predictable as the first. With his free hand, the youngest caught it. _

Weaklings_, he thought. _These losers let a seven-year-old beat them. They're from the junior high, at least!

_The younger lifted his knee violently into the older boy's groin, dropping his fists so that he'd fall to the ground, hopefully with a tremendous amount of pain. _

_Before he left to go back inside to his classroom (he would clean the blood off of himself in the bathroom), he surveyed the scene of the two boys lying in _his _blood on the grass, both hunched over in pain. _

_He'd done a good job, considering how much older and bigger they were. He gave a smirk, before turning and walking away._

_.._

_Bakura: age eight _

"Shut up! I already told you—I was out late at work!_" The white-haired boy heard his dad scream at his mom from downstairs. He'd come home late from work for the third time that week, and it was only Wednesday._

"For three days in a row? You're seeing someone else, Rachel told me!_" His mom screamed back. The young boy pulled his pillow over his head, trying to drown out the sound of his parents fighting so he could get some sleep._

"Goddamnit, woman!_" There was a loud crash, and a feminine scream. "_Just because your girlfriends say something doesn't make it true! How many times have I told you that? _Stupid_!_"_

_From upstairs, the young boy's eyebrows knit together in frustration. He'd been kept up late into the night all week by his parents yelling at each other, and it always turned into some form of loud, obnoxious fight._

dim-wits.

_He squeezed the pillow closer to his head. _

_It didn't help block out the noise._

_He heard the screaming, the yelling, the crashes and thuds through the puffy material. He was tempted to go downstairs and talk some sense into his _idiots_, but he was pretty sure they wouldn't listen. Too hard-headed and rock-stupid. _

_He felt a bitter taste enter his mouth as another crashing noise rang through the house._

_Couldn't those _dumbasses_ think of something other than themselves? What about poor Amane, who was probably across the hall, whimpering away under her covers? What about him, who had school in the morning? What about each other, the people they had promised themselves to? How was beating the crap out of each other "loving" and "cherishing"? _

Morons!

_.._

Bakura sighed at the memories that had suddenly rushed into his brain. He'd been such a cocky young kid, so disrespectful and insensitive, after he'd been toughened up by bullies during his late primary school days. Too intelligent for his own good, skilled and experienced beyond his years.

Not much had changed.

Well, not for the better, anyway.

_Flashback:_

_Bakura: age eleven_

_Bakura__**(1) **__concentrated on his book, tracing the pages with his eyes as his mind read the small text. He'd been sitting in the same spot of his special room (it didn't have a lock, so he couldn't lock himself into the room, or get locked in) for hours, absorbed in his read._

_A knock on the door pulled him from his concentration. _

"_What?" He said, not looking up from the page._

_The door opened, and he didn't have to look up to know it was Sierra. He could tell just by the smell of her perfume—some sort of bitter fruity stench._

"_Whatcha reading, baby?" She smiled at him, sitting down at the foot of the bed._

_He lifted the book so she could see the cover, not tearing his eyes from the page._

"_Oh, my. Bakura, that's a pretty advanced book." She said, honestly amazed. _

_Bakura scowled. He was a friggin' child genius. Why was she always surprised when he showed his high intelligence?_

_Currently, he was reading an old textbook he found in Doc's office from the doctor's college days, and taken back to his room. It was the third time he was rereading the book out of boredom._

_She frowned at him for a while. Bakura could sense something was bothering her, but, honestly, he didn't care enough to ask about it. Eventually, she spoke up on her own._

"_You know we…we all love you, right? We all enjoy having you here." Sierra said. Bakura could hear the hesitance in her voice._

_His response was silence. She was lying through her teeth, he just knew it!_

"_I'm sure…" She paused, swallowing. "I'm sure what happened with Cheryl was an accident, but—"_

_Bakura tittered. "It wasn't."_

_Sierra was referring to the nurse, Cheryl, that he'd almost killed last night while she was bringing him his dinner. A second longer with Bakura, and she'd have been dead, her blood staining his hands. Oh, how he felt such longing to draw the blood of an innocent!_

_It was almost unbearable._

"_Bakura…" Sierra's voice was faltering, a sign of tears. _

_Great. _

"_If you keep up your recent behavior, we're going to have…to admit you."_

"_Recent behavior?" Bakura finally looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow at the made-up woman who was just married to the doctor that owned the Institution. _

_She shook her head. "Don't play dumb, honey. Please."_

_He smirked, wide and cruel, at her. She was smarter than she let on. "It's my true nature to lust for blood."_

"_Don't say that. You're very sweet when you want to be." Sierra hung her head, her dark hair masking her entire face from his view._

_Bakura scoffed. "Yes, it's called acting. It's a way of manipulating helpless, unexpecting people."_

_At that moment, Sierra looked up at him. Tears were running down her face, leaving a dark blue trail of mascara. And suddenly, she embraced him. The book he was holding kept their bodies from becoming too close, but Serra didn't seem to mind. She pulled Bakura as close as possible, rocking him in her arms. He might have been comfortable, with her warmth spreading through his body, her heartbeat through his mind, had the hug not been out of pity._

_The white-haired boy scowled in disgust._

_How dare she pity him!_

_.._

At that memory, Bakura frowned. He could still remember the feeling of the embrace—the _sympathy_ emanating from her very form.

And she still hugged him every day when she came to check up on him, right after the sun fell. But her hugs had stopped feeling like pity a long time ago—now they were just sad and helpless.

Bakura chuckled. How convenient; those were two of his very favorite emotions.

But there was always a feeling underlying in the embraces. Something that might have just resembled caring. He hated that. He hated it very much. He didn't need people to care about him, nor did he want it. He would _refuse _to mirror the emotion, so what was the point in showing it towards him?

That's right—there wasn't one.

Bakura felt his mind trail off into another direction. The face of the Egyptian entered his mind.

Again?

How peculiar.

He let his mind wander for a while, curious about what it might tell him. He started remembering some conversations between himself and the worker. They usually revolved around either of the boy's pasts, or maybe a funny story the Egyptian had to tell about his day at work or school.

Of course, Bakura saw past the younger boy's charade of happiness. Inside he was broken, his heart battered and bruised, impaled through the middle.

It was odd; Bakura had never met someone so much like a thermos of hot, chicken noodle soup.

No, seriously.

The Egyptian was hard on the outside (the thermos), yet all jumbled and screwed up on the inside (the noodles and chicken), and yet he was comforting to be around (the warm broth).

Bakura blinked, confused at his own thoughts. A…thermos of soup?

No matter how true, the thought was really, really weird…

Hey, wait. Why was he thinking about that boy again, anyway? What a waste of time. Bakura shook his head, deciding it was time for his mind to change directions again.

Before he could find a new subject, though, his room door opened.

His head snapped to it, expecting to see the dark-skinned boy walk in, sheepishly grinning, and apologizing for being so damn late.

But no. It was Sierra.

He frowned, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

Whoa! Wait, wait! Disappointment? He wasn't disappointed just because he couldn't see that _boy_! He glanced at the window, noticing that the sun had sunk down below the horizon while he'd been caught in his memories.

"Hey, Bakura." Sierra greeted with a smile. She walked over to him, planting a kiss on his forehead. He scowled at the affectionate action.

She ignored it. "How are you feeling today, honey?"

He blinked, almost letting a mumbled "confused" slip out. Instead, he just grunted. He sat up, knowing that Sierra would want to talk for a while. She plopped down beside him on the bed, laying her head back against the wall.

"Jeez, today has been on hell of a work out." She said, her voice clouded with fatigue. "We got a new patient today. She decided it to be wise to try and make out with one of the workers. Looking back on it, it was kind of funny, but Marik didn't think so."

Bakura's eyes widened in surprise. Marik? That was the name of the Egyptian worker that had been visiting him. He knew it was an accident that Sierra let his name slip, but that didn't stop his stomach from roiling.

Sierra continued talking. "I had to literally pry her off of him! And then, she was so focused on him, I had to send him out of the room so I could get her full attention."

Bakura felt a _disgusting _feeling towards the girl enter the pit of his stomach, but he ignored it. It was probably just because she was obviously nothing but filthy cur.

Noticing the odd look on Bakura's face, Sierra frowned. "You okay, 'Kura?"

He scowled at the friendly nickname. "Yes. Carry on."

Sierra continued telling stories about the new girl for about half an hour—things like how she tried to get a piggyback ride from one of four nurses _and _Doc, or how she'd wanted to drink from the toilet, claiming it was cleaner than water from the sink.

She glanced down at her watch, and gasped when she saw how late it was. "Oh, no! I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow."

As usual, she gave him that hug full of underlying emotion, along with his two favorite emotions, and left the room, leaving him to his pounding silence once again.

All Bakura could think about for the next few minutes, before he fell asleep again, was how much he disliked the new girl.

**A/N:**

**1: I used his name in **_**this**_** flashback, because it's after he came to the Institution. It wasn't in the others, because he doesn't remember it.**

**I really like how this chapter turned out. If you review, it motivates me to write more, so if you actually want me to continue, please let me know!**


	11. This Twisted World

**A/N: All I have to say is that I have been planning this chapter for so long, and I'm a SO GLAD to finally be able to write it. **

_Saturday afternoon, The Institution…_

Marik leaned to the right, letting the counter in the lounge support his weight. His arms crossed, he smirked at the celebration before him.

The on-duty nurses, Doc, Sierra, the patient Yugi Moto, and of course, himself, were gathered together around a circular cake, which was smothered in chocolate frosting and sixteen candles.

"Oh, Yugi, you grew up so fast!" Sierra had an arm around the particularly short boy, as they overlooked the cake. Doc was lighting the candles with a match. "You're already sixteen years old!"

Marik smirked. He had been surprised to hear that the undersized, frail boy was fifteen, now sixteen, years of age. He looked so young, with his huge, purple eyes and his childlike smile. He now found himself feeling a bit uncomfortable around the younger-by-a-few-months boy, as Marik was so much taller, yet still sixteen himself.

Marik was pulled out of his thoughts by an out of tune serenade of "Happy Birthday", and a high-pitched giggle as Yugi's shiest personality (Marik had named him Tam, meaning "innocent") flushed in embarrassment.

After the song was over, Yugi made a wish and blew out the sixteen candles in one huge blow. The cake was cut, and everyone but Marik took a piece.

He really wasn't hungry.

.

Later, the party was dying down, as many of the nurses had left to finish their work. Marik decided that it was his chance to leave, but right when he was about to slip out, he heard Yugi's high voice from behind him.

"Marik!"

His hand was on the doorknob, and he considered just turning it and leaving. He frowned at the thought, and turned to face Yugi instead. It wasn't that he didn't like Yugi, it just wanted to go see Bakura.

"Hey, kiddo." He greeted, forgetting that Yugi was now the same age as him.

"I noticed you didn't have any cake. You don't like chocolate?" Yugi had a piece of the cake on a little paper plate in his hands. He held it out to Marik.

Marik shook his head, raising his hands to act as a shield between him and the cake. "I'm not hungry, thanks though, Tam."

Yugi grinned at the nickname, forcing a smile from Marik. The boy was so undeniably _cute_. Plus, Tam was his favorite of all Yugi's personalities, because he was so nice and naïve.

"You sure? It's delicious. You don't have to eat it here! Take it home, if you want." Yugi's face fell, his eyes sad. "It's just…this is the last piece, and I don't want it to go bad."

At Marik's silence, Yugi continued. "And Sierra can't eat it, because it'll go straight to her thighs!"

Marik suppressed a laugh. Yugi must have been quoting her, he figured. "Okay, I'll take it."

Yugi giggled, handing Marik the plate."Your shift ended a few minutes ago, right, Marik? You can take it to your brother!" He suggested, nodding franticly.

Marik gave the shorter boy a soft smile, patting him on the head. He and Yugi talked most any chance they got, so Yugi knew a lot about Marik and vice versa. Well, Marik hadn't told the younger about his father, or how he was your basic reject at school. He would have felt terrible for ruining Yugi's adolescent view on the world.

Marik gave Yugi one last smile and a grunt before leaving the lounge.

.

"Hey, Bakura!" Marik padded into the older boy's room, holding the cake behind his back. "I have another surprise for you."

Bakura scowled. "Yes, because your last _surprise_ was so pleasurable."

Marik smirked, showing off his teeth. "It was pretty fun for me."

"Hah-hah." Bakura sent him a sarcastic laugh, ending his jibe in an eye roll.

Marik shook his head. "Anyway…" He held out the cake. "Happy Yugi Moto's birthday, Bakura."

Marik had gotten the idea to bring the cake to Bakura after realizing that there was no way he was going to be able to carry a piece of cake while driving his motorcycle down the road at 50 miles an hour.

"Who the hell is Yugi Moto?" Bakura glared at the cake.

"He's another patient here, duh." Marik plopped down on the side of Bakura's bed, right beside his head.

The older boy glared at Marik, upset over the "duh" part of his explanation. How was he supposed to keep track of all the loonies that lived in the Institution? It wasn't like he _saw_ them often…

"I don't like cake." Bakura said, deciding to be difficult with the Egyptian for insulting him. Bakura may appear mature, but he knew that he could be a stubborn little kid when he wanted.

"Did I ask if you like it?" Marik, realizing he'd forgotten a fork, pinched a piece of the cake off with his fingers. Holding it over Bakura's mouth. "Open wide!"

Bakura's eyes widened in shock for the slightest second, eliciting a smug sneer from Marik. "If you even _try _to put your fingers in my mouth, I swear I'll kill you in your slee—"

Marik shoved the cake into Bakura's mouth, laughing out loud when his victim grunted in surprise. Nevertheless, he swallowed the sweet, spongy food.

"If my arms were free, you'd be cringing on the floor right now." Bakura threatened. They both knew the words were empty, but he still sounded pretty menacing.

Marik rolled his eyes. "Open your mouth. I have to get rid of this cake so I can go home."

"I don't like cake." Bakura repeated.

Marik frowned. "Just eat it."

"Why don't you?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Neither am I."

"Bak_uuu_ra…" Marik pouted, jutting his lip out as far as it would go, hoping to annoy the white-haired boy into eventually eating the cake.

"You look like a mentally disturbed fish." Bakura commented, turning his head away from Marik.

Marik glared at Bakura, wiping a bit of frosting on his finger and smearing it in on Bakura's nose.

"Ah! What the hell was that for?" Bakura shook his head like a wet dog, his eyes crossed to look at the cake that he couldn't wipe off of himself, due to the straight jacket.

"If you finish this piece of cake, I'll wipe that off of your nose." Marik proposed, his nose high in the air so he could look down on Bakura.

"Absolutely not. I refuse to succumb to your stupid jokes." Bakura scowled, his nose crinkling.

"Okay, then." Marik stood up, pretending to leave.

"Hey!" Bakura said, his face heated in anger. "Come back here!"

Marik turned, raising an eyebrow at Bakura. "Have you re-thought my offer?"

Bakura glared murder at him.

"See you tomorrow, then, Bakura." Marik, his hand on doorknob, smirked. He could see his own reflection in the doorknob, and he couldn't help but notice how animalistic his grin was.

"Damn it, boy." Bakura swore, rather loudly. "I'll eat the cake. Even though it'd be your ass when Sierra asks me why I have frosting all over my face."

"You wouldn't tell her." Marik declared, turning to shoot Bakura a knowing smile. He walked over and sat back in his place on the bed.

"Why shouldn't I?"

Marik hesitated, his smile faded. "Because…then I wouldn't be able to come back."

Bakura didn't answer (nor did he argue), as Marik put a bite of cake in his awaiting mouth.

"Is it good?" He asked, as Bakura chewed the food.

The older boy's response was to glare, drawing a giggle (yes, an actual giggle) from Marik. Apparently, Bakura noticed the feminine gesture, as he raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Sorry." Marik said, feeling a blush rise to his face. He fed Bakura another bite of cake, his blush deepening when he felt the older boy's tongue flick against his fingertip.

Bakura smirked at his reaction. "You embarrass easily."

Marik glared his defense. "Well, I've never exactly fed another guywith my _bare hands_ before."

"Hey, don't go all self-protective on me. I'm just stating a fact." Bakura said, grunting in surprise when another piece of cake was shoved into his mouth.

"Shut your trap and eat." Marik demanded, smirking.

"Need I point out the impossibility in that statement?" Bakura said, swallowing the chocolate cake.

"Need _I_ point out that you take things too literally?" Marik raised an eyebrow, showing off his white teeth in a grin.

Bakura chuckled, opening his mouth for another bite. Marik smiled, amused. "For someone who doesn't like cake, you're sure enjoying it."

Bakura shot him a catlike grin, which was demolished by Marik's incoming hand. Marik laughed when some of the cake caught on his cheek and upper lip. Bakura licked it off of his lip, scowling when his tongue didn't reach the speck of frosting on his cheek.

Marik blinked, watching Bakura's struggle. "You need some help?"

Bakura sighed in aggravation, eyeing Marik. Marik knew he wouldn't admit it, but Bakura needed him.

Marik nodded once, staring at the bit of frosting, before reaching out to wipe it from Bakura's cheek with his thumb.

He held out the dirtied digit to Bakura. After a moment, the boy scowled. "What?"

"Lick it off." Marik commanded, feeling his face overheat.

Bakura's scowl deepened. "No. Do it yourself."

Marik sighed, rolling his eyes. "Sugar is bad for your complexion. Don't you know anything?"

This drew an eyebrow raise from Bakura. "You're kidding me. That's why you wouldn't eat the cake?"

Marik looked away, feeling his face turn red _again_. "Maybe."

Bakura burst into laughter, surprising Marik.

"Hey! Don't laugh at me!" Marik's face flushed in anger.

"You're…" Bakura tried to talk between chuckles and gasps for air. "You're such a pansy!"

"Am not. I just care about how I look." Marik crossed his arms, careful not to wipe the frosting on his purple T-shirt. "Unlike some people, who choose to let their good looks rot away, _Bakura_."

Bakura sneered. "'Good looks'? Aw, how sweet. You think I'm handsome." He teased sarcastically.

Marik went red, but decided to disguise it as irritation. "Stop twisting my words!"

"I did nothing of the sort."

"Yeah, you did. I never said _you _were handsome."

"Actually, you made quite a show of accentuating my name at the end of your sentence, which leads me to believe that you were, in fact, talking about me." Bakura gave him a smug look.

Marik's nose scrunched up in anger. "Just…shut up and finish this cake."

Bakura didn't bother to hide his satisfied smirk. Although, it fell as soon as Marik held his thumb out for Bakura to lick.

"We've already been over this."

Marik rolled his eyes. "You're so immature. It's just a finger."

"I don't know where you've had that thing…" Bakura let his last word hang, raising his upper lip in disgust.

Marik closed his eyes, about to give up and wipe the frosting on Bakura's straight jacket, before he felt the older boy take the tip of Marik's thumb between his teeth, and run his heated tongue repeatedly over the tanned flesh.

Marik yelped in surprise, his eyes snapping open.

After a moment, Bakura released his thumb, and was staring at the center of his face.

Marik's eyes widened and his head jerked back to put some more distance between himself and the other boy. "Wh-what are you staring at?"

Bakura sighed. "You're hopeless."

"Huh?" Marik asked hesitantly.

"You're blushing again."

"It's a human reaction." Marik mumbled. "And I've never exactly been licked before. _Excuuuse_ me."

"You asked me to." Bakura pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but you refused, then did it anyway, which scared the crap out of me."

"Whatever." Bakura opened his mouth and laid his head back, signaling for Marik to finish feeding him.

Marik felt his muscles relax, which he found odd, as he hadn't even realized he'd tensed up. He dropped another piece of cake in between Bakura's lips, wincing when he felt the older boy purposefully brush his tongue against Marik's fingers.

The Egyptian bit his bottom lip, trying to suppress a grin. "You just love screwing with me, don't you?"

Bakura's gaze focused on the ceiling, his lips curled upward. "Yes."

Marik chuckled as he stuffed the last bite of cake into Bakura's mouth, erasing his smile. The white-haired boy didn't bother to tease Marik this time.

After Bakura swallowed the cake, Marik grinned to himself, standing up to leave. "I'll see you on Monday."

"Take one more step." Bakura growled. "I dare you."

Marik turned around, his eyes lingering on Bakura's still-defiled nose. "_I was just kidding_."

"Whatever." Bakura rolled his eyes.

Marik leaned down, catching Bakura's nose-frosting on his finger and, figuring Bakura would take advantage of him again, wiped it on the thigh of his pants. He raised his hand in good bye, leaving the boy in solitude.

..

_The next afternoon, around six PM…_

Marik sat on Odion's dark yellow couch, flipping through the TV channels. Odion was beside him, reading through the newspaper for something interesting.

"Damn, there's nothing good on TV." Marik complained, dropping the remote in his lap and cradling his head in his hands dramatically. He'd stopped on some sort of kid's program with an animated talking pickle at the park.

"Watch your language." Odion commented half-heartedly, like he didn't really care what kind of profanity Marik used, but he felt the need to act "the responsible adult".

Marik snorted in amusement. "Good one, bro."

Odion grinned behind the newspaper. After a second of comfortable silence, he said, "You know, there's a fireworks show down at the lake tonight. It wouldn't kill you to go somewhere other than school and the Institution."

Marik blinked. "Hey, don't blame me for that! I just don't have anywhere else to go."

Odion smirked. "Get a girlfriend." He teased.

"Ah-hah-hah." Marik said, theatrically moving his head from side-to-side with every syllable. "Because you have one, so you totally have the right to mock me."

"I'm old. I'm allowed to be single." Odion grinned, dipping the newspaper so he could eye Marik.

"Whatever, man. I'll go to the show, if you'll stop bugging me about finding a girlfriend." Marik crossed his arms, leaning back to focus on the TV. The talking pickle was at some sort of convenience store now…

Wait, can talking pickles drive? How the hell did it get there? It doesn't even have feet to walk…

"It starts in an hour and a half, right after sun down, by the way." Odion told Marik, jerking him from his thoughts.

"Marik?"

Marik grunted in response, waving a hand dismissively.

"As in go get ready…?" The older brother pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"I will, I will." Marik grinned at the TV, as the pickle ran into someone he knew (a talking apple) and began some sort of conversation.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting your program?" Odion rolled his eyes, noisily folding up the newspaper.

"Yeah." Marik replied honestly, giggling at the screen as the two snacks decided to go to the library and study together, for what he hadn't a clue.

He heard Odion sigh and mutter something before walking off to the bathroom to take a shower.

After the show went off, Marik yawned, throwing his arms up to stretch, before standing up and removing the right cushion from the couch. This was his adapted closet, since Odion didn't have a spare room.

Not that he was complaining. He found it quite convenient to have his underwear and jeans in the same place, instead of having to search through a closet and dresser just for one outfit.

Marik found a medium purple (he loved wearing the color purple, as it brought out his eyes) long-sleeve button up shirt and a pair of black jeans. He quickly changed clothes, leaving his shirt halfway unbuttoned at the top, so anyone who cared to look could see his accented chest.

Just as he finished dressing, Odion walked into the room, showered and ready to leave.

He grabbed his keys from the coffee table, grinning at Marik. "Let's head out."

.

Forty-five minutes later, Odion and Marik were sitting in the wet, green grass around the lake. There were a ton of other people there, but Marik found himself able to ignore them.

The sun had gone down a few minutes ago, and he was sure the show would start any minute.

Marik stretched his legs out in front of him, lying back in the grass so he could get a better look at the night sky. He traced the few visible stars into something resembling a game of connect-the-dots with his eyes, letting his mind wander.

His first thought was the Institution.

That place…it was good for him. He knew it. Since he met Yugi, Sierra, Doc, Evelyn…

Bakura…

…and everyone else there, his life had improved drastically. He now found being ignored at school and unwanted at home bearable. He knew he was acting cheesy, thinking things like this, but it was true. The Institution and every detail about it had somehow, in this twisted, screwed-up universe, helped him deal with his life.

Maybe it was because everyone there was even more pathetic than him.

Maybe it was because the doctor, no matter how annoying, and Sierra where so accepting and nice, willing to help.

Marik blinked up the sky, a smile spreading across his lips. He knew he probably looked creepy, as he was seemingly smiling at nothing, but he couldn't scrounge up the will to care.

He was happy. Honestly, truly, insanely happy.

He knew that Bakura was the main reason he liked the place so much. He couldn't position his finger on it, but there was something about the white-haired, pale, rude, arrogant boy that drew Marik in…

It could have been how _undeniably cute_ he'd looked with frosting smeared all over his face, as he stared, cross-eyed, at his own nose. Or maybe it was the way he always had to hold back a smile when he and Marik argued, no matter how friendly the fight. Maybe it was Bakura's past, so horrid and terrible that it surpassed even his own.

Marik let out a chuckle, remembering the look on Bakura's face when he saw his own white hair, braided neatly over his shoulder a few days ago. Then the image of his smirk passed through Marik's mind. Only Bakura could look so full of himself, yet so amused at the same time.

Marik loved how Bakura's brown eyes always had a glow of mischief, like he could crack any second.

How his white hair never failed to fall in his face when he laughed.

How his right eyebrow would rise when Marik said something questionable—never his left.

How his hair fell in spikes down his back, uneven from so many years of being tangled and neglected.

How he hadn't given Marik that hating, lonely glare in weeks—not since their early meetings.

Marik felt his heart rate speed up, but he didn't really know why.

Wait.

Marik sat up, gasping loudly. He raised his hand to his chest, feeling his heart—his bruised, beat-up heart—pound against his ribcage.

"Marik? Are you okay?" He heard Odion's voice, but the sound was distant, like a wedding bell miles away.

He knew exactly why.

"Holy sh—" The first round of fireworks went off, drowning out most of Marik's sentence with booms and pops, and clapping and cheering from the people around him. "—ove."

"What?" Odion held a hand to his ear, signaling that he hadn't heard what his brother had to say.

Marik ignored him, staring wide-eyed at the lake, watching the reflection of the next set of fireworks.

"_Holy shit. Odion, I think I'm in love."_


	12. Fear

**A/N: Just to be clear, I made that TV show that was in the last chapter up. I've always found it interesting how a lot of children's shows have inanimate objects and animals talking. I mean, that's **_**so**__**good**_** for kids! Let's go ahead and teach them to talk to their food, make friends with it, and then lock 'em up for it a couple years later. **

**Logic = Bad…?**

**Anyway, I'd really like to thank you guys for reading and reviewing my story. You're an awesome set of readers! (huggle)**

_Monday, week six... _

"It's nothing. Just forget it, Odion." Marik bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Please."

He leaned against the car window, pressing his forehead against the clean glass so he could watch the road fly under him, counting the piles of loose gravel. His older brother had been bugging him about what he'd said at the fireworks festival since the minute the fireworks had stopped sounding. Needless to say, Marik had enough on his mind already. He didn't need even his own brother plucking at the thin fishing line that was his last connection to sanity.

"You looked so upset, though." Odion gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. "So dumbfounded."

Marik was really _trying_ to pay attention to the conversation, honestly. He couldn't help if his mind was clouded by thoughts of _him_. Why did it have to be Bakura, anyway? Couldn't it have been…

Marik spotted a pedestrian striding on the sidewalk. A female one. With breasts and makeup and long, curly hair and a purse that said "_S3XY B1TCH"._

Why couldn't it have been _her_? She looked nice enough. Kind of.

"Marik?"

Marik's head snapped to his brother. "Hmm?"

"Are you even listening to me?" Odion raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Notice how I responded to my name?" Marik gave Odion his best _I'm not preoccupied by my newfound intimate feelings toward a person of the same gender _smile.

Odion frowned. "Why do you keep lying to me? There's something bothering you."

They both new that was Odion's way of saying "Spill. Now.".

"I'm not lying." Marik lied. _How ironic_, he thought. "I just have a test in math today and I didn't study."

"You never study."

Marik feigned a gasp. "No wonder I'm failing!"

Odion chuckled, and Marik could only hope that meant he wasn't going to question him anymore.

"What did you say, back at the lake?" _Damn._

Odion slowed the speed of the car down. He had insisted on driving Marik to school today, probably in hopes that Marik would tell him what was wrong while they were driving.

Marik shook his head, averting his gaze back out the window. He caught sight of another pedestrian, this one short and frail, with spiky black hair and a lip ring. _Disgusting... _"Forget about it. I was just…thinking, that's all."

"About?"

Marik didn't answer the question. Instead he said, "Look, Odion…"

The older could sense some sort of confession.

"I'll tell you when I'm ready to. I have enough on my mind, and what you'll think is one of my main concerns." Marik gave him a pleading stare. "Please, just don't think about it anymore. I need a few days to sort this out."

Odion returned the gaze with soft eyes and a lingering frown, before hitting a curb and realizing that he should probably be watching the road.

There was a moment of silence, good and tense.

"Okay."

Marik gave his brother a smile. "Thank you."

.

"Don't fail that test." Odion warned with a playful smile, as Marik grabbed his backpack and hopped out of Odion's hunk-of-junk Corsica.

Sheepishly, the younger grinned. "There isn't a test." He paused, blinking. "At least, I hope not."

Odion rolled his eyes. "Go to school, Marik."

"Yeah." Marik held his fist through the open passenger side window. Odion, rolling his eyes once again, hit his own fist against his brother's, before the younger of the two turned to walk away. "Don't you dare forget to come pick me up."

Odion had today off of work, so he would be able to come get his brother in time to get him to the Institution.

"Hmm." Odion muttered to himself. "I wonder if Marik's problem is with the Institution…?"

He closed his eyes, remembering that he promised Marik he'd try not to think about it.

_Try_ was the key word in that sentence.

..

_Two hours later…_

Marik absently rubbed his hands against his knees, tracing the patterns in the wood that made up his desk with his eyes.

He thought it was ironic how much those patterns resembled his mind—twisted up and unable to move from that position.

Bakura's face flashed through his mind, and his stomach flipped. It had been doing that all day. His brain would send an image or a _fucking fantasy _through his consciousness, and his body would react with either a stomach flip or a shiver, both accompanied by a blush.

He hated that blush. He hated it more than anything else about this _love _situation. It gave away his feelings so easily. The blushes were definitely more than his body language could ever reveal; his distant, glazed lavender orbs, or his front teeth absently gnawing away at his lips.

That was nothing compared to the rise of blood to his cheeks and neck, a dead giveaway.

Ahh! Just thinking about blushing caused a rush of heat to rise to his face. He angled his head so that his bangs would shield his face from anyone who cared to look at him.

"Mr. Ishtar?"

His head snapped up. His eyes met the sharp blue of his teacher's.

"Please, tell us the answer."

He blinked. He didn't even know what class he was in. "Er, I…um…" He cleared his throat."That is, the answer is—" He made a mumbling noise, and a rumble in his throat.

He teacher raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"I said, the answer is—" He made the noise again.

The teacher closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Mr. Ishtar, in the future, please pay attention to my lectures, or your grades will continue to drop. And you can't get much lower than a forty-nine out of one hundred."

Marik nodded. As soon as the teacher continued speaking, he tuned her out once more. He had more important things to think about than school.

First off:

Bakura.

The name sent a shiver down his spine.

He ignored it.

Bakura seemed to be the person Fate had chosen for him. Or maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Just because he, uh, _felt _for the guy didn't mean he was in love. Of course, he'd never really felt so strong for someone—he'd never felt anything intimate toward anyone, really.

How could he be sure what he was feeling was…the real deal?

He reached a hand up to play with his bangs.

Why did people want love, anyway? All it had caused him so far was pain, pain, pain with a side of DAMN IT.

.

_Lunch…_

Marik leaned against the back wall of the cafeteria, waiting for the general rush of people to arrive so he could sneak out during the confusion. He stared up at the ceiling, where a dead frog stuck to the tiles. One of the jocks had thought it would be funny to throw it up there.

No one knows how it stuck.

Marik flinched, hearing a loud crash and a few screams and yells. That was the crowd of his peers, stupid and hungry—a horrible mix.

He shoved his hands in his pocket, making his way over to the door so he could squeeze through it when everyone was trying to come in. He braced himself for the impact, making sure his jaw was tight so he couldn't bite down on his cheeks or tongue.

He had done that before, and immediately concluded that it wasn't a pleasant experience, nor was it something he wanted to feel again.

The doors flew open and a rush of starving adolescents pushed past each other. Marik nodded to himself.

Now!

He ran through the other kids, chuckling when he heard someone call him a jackass, and saw another flip him off.

This would certainly be an interesting story to tell Bakura today, when he went to see him after work…

Once he made it through the crowd, he calmly walked into the guys' room to avoid any more people from his lunch period who might have been late. He immediately locked himself in a stall and leaned his back against the door.

Finally, solitude.

Right as he was about to sigh in relief, he heard a gruff voice.

"Yeah, I heard that, too." It said. Marik recognized it as one of the guys on the football team. His name was…Jake? No…Jack!

"You think it's true?" Another voice asked. Marik thought it might have been one of Jack's cronies, whose name no one really knew.

"I don't care. We're going to give him hell about it, either way." Marik heard Jack unzip his pants and relieve himself.

The crony laughed stupidly. "Yeah, his kind isn't welcome here. We should _meet with him_ after school and teach him not to be so _gay _and shame our school."

Marik's breath hitched at the word "gay", but thankfully neither of the two boys heard it. They were too busy laughing.

Marik heard the sink turn on. That was the last thing concerning Jack and his crony that he paid attention to. He didn't want to hear any more.

He knew a lot of people were against homosexuality, but he'd never realized how…crazy people could get about it.

So what? The poor boy was gay. That didn't mean they had to _hurt_ him over it. Marik felt his heart rate speed up in anger, and he clenched his fists.

Bastards!

In his anger, he punched the wall of the stall, not caring that he left a dent in the cheap material or that there was a chance that the other boys were still in the bathroom.

He wouldn't allow them to hurt an innocent person just because he was gay.

A few weeks ago, Marik probably would have just pretended like he hadn't heard the conversation and moved on with his own life, since it really wasn't any of his business. But now, he felt different about the matter.

He knew his current thoughts derived from his feelings toward Bakura. That much was obvious. Briefly, through his irate mind, he wondered if his change in character due to his newfound love was for the better.

The thought was quickly overrun and stomped into the dust by plans to stop the bullies. How could two people be so _cruel_?

The thought made him grind his teeth together. He would NOT allow this.

..

_After school…_

Marik kept his distance behind Jack, but never let the broader male leave his sight. He followed Jack down the hallway, his hands shoved casually in his pockets. Thankfully, the jock wasn't too bright, so he didn't even notice Marik. He was too busy horsing around with a few of his mindless followers.

"Where is he, Jack?" Said the voice Marik recognized from the bathroom.

"Samantha told me he would be in student parking right after school." Jack replied, slowing his steps. Marik mimicked him, keeping his ears alert.

"'Aight. Then what are we waiting for?" Another crony, this one chubby and pale, grinned wildly.

They took off into a run down the hallway. Marik considered running after them, but decided it would be way too suspicious, and just quickened his pace considerably.

By the time he made it into student parking, the bullies had already surrounded a frail boy, who was looking like he might wet himself any second.

"W-what do you want from me…?" He asked, taking a step back, only to be pushed forward again by one of the cronies.

Marik felt himself grow sick at the hungry sneers on the bullies' faces. They definitely weren't planning on holding back against this guy.

Oh, well. That would make it all the more enjoyable for Marik. He'd be able to watch them squirm like roaches under his shoe…

He dropped his backpack on the sidewalk and stepped behind Jack. "Hey." He said, demanding the other's attention.

He turned, a glare on his face. "What? Can't you see I'm—"

Marik silenced him with a quick punch to his mouth. "If you want to fight someone, you can fight me."

"You…I'm gonna kill you." Jack spit crimson blood near Marik's feet. His lip was busted. His cronies were poised to attack, but Jack held a hand out.

"I got him. He's a wimp."

"You sure? He looks pretty tough." A particularly ugly one said.

"I got him." Jack repeated. "He caught me by surprise. He's a coward."

Marik cocked an eyebrow. At least he wasn't all talk, like this guy seemed to be."Then fight me and leave that guy alone."

He nodded toward the skinny boy, who was now cowering on the sidewalk, watching with wide, fearful eyes.

"I got a better idea; I'll take you, then him." Jack sneered, cracking his knuckles.

"I _got_ one, too—learn to speak with better grammar, and maybe you won't come across as such an idiot." Marik puffed out his chest, closing the short distance between him and Jack.

Jack made a low throaty sound that was dangerously close to a growl. "That's it…"

He swung at Marik, but Marik easily dodged his fist.

"Too slow." He taunted, hitting the ball of his hand on the tip of Jack's chin. His jaw snapped shut on his tongue. He yelled a curse, and swung at Marik again, this time landing a blow on his cheek. That would leave a bruise…

The boys continued brawling, until they were interrupted by a loud yell.

.

Odion sat in his car, waiting in the parking lot for his younger brother. School had let out over twenty minutes ago, and he was starting to worry. He hadn't driven Marik to school in ages, but he was sure his brother should be here by now.

And that's when he saw Marik…

Being led into the parking lot by a rather important-looking man, who had a tight grip on his shirt collar.

Odion got out of the car, his arms crossed, glaring at his brother.

Marik chuckled nervously, once they were within hearing range of each other.

"What did you do this time?" Odion eyed his brother, letting his gaze drift up to the man carrying him for half a second.

Instead of Marik answering, the man said, "I caught him fighting with another student. Apparently, he was the one who started it."

Odion nodded slowly. "And you are…?"

"I'm the principal here. You can call me Mr. Wright." The principal let go of Marik's collar. "Go home, and you can expect punishment for this first thing tomorrow morning."

"Hmph." Marik dusted himself off after the principal left, muttering about "why can't students fight somewhere else so that he wouldn't have to deal with it". "That guy's a creeper."

"Marik." Odion warned. "What happened?"

"Not much. Just some losers picking on a weaker guy." Marik smirked. "So I beat up their leader."

Odion glared his disapproval. Marik may have been doing what was right in his eyes, but he should have gone to get a teacher, to avoid the fighting completely. "Get in the car."

They drove in silence for a while. Marik replayed the fight in his mind, remembering the adrenaline, the sweat rolling down his spine as he dodged a kick…

Truth was, Marik loved fighting. He wasn't weak enough to lose, but also not so strong that he won without effort. He enjoyed the way his instincts took over his mind, allowing him to easily move quicker than his opponent. He liked the satisfaction of knowing he was stronger when he won. His favorite part was probably getting to beat up the losers who would talk down to him behind his back…

"Did you win?"

Marik turned to Odion, surprised by the sudden outburst. "What?"

"Did you win the fight?" Odion avoided his brother's gaze.

Marik scoffed. "This is ME we're talking about. Of course I did."

"Your lip is busted." Odion pointed out. "Your cheek is bruising. You were walking with a limp. What was I supposed to think?"

"Hah, that's nothing. He has a black eye, and I'm pretty sure I broke his nose." Marik wore a satisfied smile.

"So you're okay?"

"Yeah, let's just head down to the Institution. My lip stopped bleeding a while ago."

Odion nodded.

.

_The Institution, during Marik's shift…_

Sierra dipped the brush into the small container of nail polish, then ran it expertly across Kisara's left thumbnail, leaving a trail of gleaming white.

"You chose a nice color, Kisara." Sierra said kindly, smiling at the girl.

Kisara blinked at her, reaching for the open container of polish. Sierra swatted at her hand. She'd already discovered the girl's odd fetish for tasting the nail polish.

It had been two days, and Sierra had yet to learn anything more about Kisara. Not even a personality (other than _completely nutters_) had come through. Doc had told her yesterday that he was just going to lock her up after Monday's shift.

Which was today.

Sierra smiled down at Kisara's newly painted nails.

"You look gorgeous." She stated.

Kisara didn't respond, instead making another snag at the bottle of polish.

Sierra snatched it up, screwing the lid on tight and slipping the bottle in her front pocket. "You do realize this stuff is toxic, right?"

Kisara nodded. "It's also delicious."

"So you'd kill yourself for an, um, enjoyable meal?" The older woman crossed her arms, smiling her amusement.

"'Living' is a state of mind." Kisara said simply, standing up and reaching for Sierra's pocket.

"Hey, hey. Be careful what you're grabbing at. Your nails will smudge!" Sierra grabbed her by the wrist. "Come on, kiddo. Let's go show Doc, while we're on the subject of your nails."

.

In long strokes, Marik swept the floor of the lounge. There was a huge pile of dirt by his foot, which drove him to the conclusion that the floor hadn't been cleaned in a while.

He chewed his lip distantly, his mid racing. He was, once again, in the same building as Bakura. But this time…his feelings for the boy were different.

Or were they?

He was still Marik, and Bakura was still Bakura. Marik concluded that he had probably been in love with Bakura for a while now, maybe even from the beginning. So, just because he _realized_ his feelings, did that change anything at all? Marik knew it probably shouldn't have, but it did. It did, because now Marik knew why his stomach flipped when he was around Bakura…why he blushed at every other thing the older boy said…

"Marik?"

Marik blinked back into reality at hearing Doc's voice.

"You realize that you've been sweeping the same spot for over three minutes, right? I think it's clean." Doc chuckled. He was lounging back in one of the many wooden chairs around the circular table, sipping a clear liquid that Marik was sure wasn't water.

Marik shook his head. "Sorry…I'll, uh, move."

"No sarcastic remark?" Doc asked, feigning shock. "Have you come down with something?"

"No, I'm just not in the mood." Marik answered honestly, sweeping more dirt into his pile.

"You, not in the mood for an argument? A match of wits? A—"

"Shut up, will you? I'm trying to think." Marik snapped, glaring at the doctor.

"Someone's touchy." Doc smirked, setting his drink on the table. "So, what are you thinking about?"

Marik felt heat rise to his face. He looked down to hide it. He should have known that the nosy doctor would ask about that! Why did he say that he was trying to think? What could he say…?

"None of your business." Oh, like that one's never been used. He mentally rolled his eyes at himself.

"Fine, don't tell me about your problems. I mean, I'm only a _doctor_. Not like I could help." Doc took a sip of his drink.

"Who said I need help? Or that I have a problem?" Marik leaned on the tip of the broom. "You know what _your _problem is? You jump to conclusions."

Before anything more could be said, the door to the lounge opened. Sierra came in, hauling Kisara behind her.

As soon as he saw the white-haired girl, Marik stepped back and raised the broom so that it looked more like a spear than a cleaning utensil. "You won't catch me unawares this time, girl."

The married couple just laughed at him, and Kisara blinked innocently.

"Quit overreacting, son." Doc chided. "It was just a kiss. Teenage guys are supposed to like things like that."

Marik muttered something incomprehensible, not taking his eyes off the (demon) girl, nonchalantly going back to his sweeping job. He would not be fooled by her innocent appearance this time—nuh-uh, no way. "Shouldn't she be in a room, anyway?"

"After today." Sierra said. "Now, shush and look at her nails. I just did them."

Marik leaned over to Doc and whispered, "Why is she showing us something like this?"

Doc chuckled. "We're giving Kisara as much attention as we can. From what we've heard, she's been shunned by most everyone all her life. We believe that that's part of the reason she's how she is."

_You mean bat-shit bonkers? _"Ahh." Marik nodded. He still didn't approach the younger girl.

After a moment, he asked, "What room are you putting her in?"

Doc raised an eyebrow at him. "We've already assigned her a room. Where did you think we were keeping her, in a storage closet?"

"Oh." He leaned the broom against the counter and sat down at the table. "Where is it?"

"With the rest of the rooms, down the hall. It's right next to Bakura's room." Sierra said, busying herself by braiding Kisara's long, pale hair back.

Marik couldn't help but jump at the use of Bakura's name. He wasn't expecting it…

"Is there something wrong with that, Marik?" Doc raised an eyebrow at him, noticing his odd body language.

Marik shook his head. He glanced at the clock. Yes! It was just about time for him to go. He grinned. He could probably leave as soon as he swept up the dirt pile. He stood up, grabbing the dustpan from its perch on the counter and, quickly as he could, finishing his job.

"I'm out." Marik grabbed the broom and dustpan, intending to take it back to storage on his way to Bakura. "See you guys on Wednesday."

"Bye, Marik." He heard Sierra call. And then, right before he shut the door, he heard her gasp. "Damn it, Julius! Have you been drinking during work hours again? You're going to have us shut down if you don't quit that!"

Marik wished he could have seen Doc's face when his wife spotted his glass of "water".

.

The painted white, wooden door was towering over him. It seemed that the doorknob was just out of his reach, hanging above his head like a shining fishing bauble in the lake, ready to pull him up, dare he take the bait.

He was one stupid fish, he thought. After all, he always fell for the same bait.

Marik reached out and turned the knob, ignoring the storm brewing in his stomach.

The warning lightening strike went off as the door opened.

Thunder, as he met eyes with Bakura's.

The first drops of rain, slow and timid, when he saw his love lying on his bed like usual.

Bakura greeted him with a blink, and then a blank, emotionless stare.

It started pouring.

"Uh, hi, B-Bakura." Marik cursed his tongue for stuttering like that.

"Did you visit your dad, or something?" Bakura smirked, openly showing his amusement at Marik's beat-up form.

Marik shook his head, leaning against the closed door. He would he really, really uncomfortable if he joined Bakura on the bed like usual…

"I got in a fight at school."

"Ah." Bakura raised an eyebrow. "You didn't lose, did you?"

The way he said it made it sound like he expected Marik to blush and shrink away, admitting his own defeat. Of course, that's probably what he was aiming for.

Marik decided not to satisfy him, defiantly grinning. "No, actually. I broke his nose." _I think, _he added mentally. So what if he was showing off to Bakura? He was just trying to prove that he wasn't as feeble and lame as the white-haired patient seemed to think, honestly!

Bakura grunted in response. "At least you're not a _total_ weakling."

"Hey, I could probably wipe your pale ass in a fist fight." Marik warned, playfully raising his fists. _That's right, act as casual as possible. Don't be tense or hesitant…_

Bakura shrugged. "Maybe so. But I would certainly excel in a battle of intellect…"

Marik opened his mouth to argue, but upon finding no words or witty phrases in his arsenal, his lips broke into a smile. "Probably."

There was a silence. Marik felt himself grow antsy. He noticed that Bakura didn't seem to be bothered by the lack in conversation, as he was occupied with flexing his toes experimentally while examining the digits. Marik's stomach knotted up, increasing the tense feeling on his side of the room.

_Ugh! Curse him for being so… _

Bakura's eyes snapped to the Egyptian. He jumped in surprise.

"Tell me, why have you been staring at me since you walked in here? That look in your eyes is rather disturbing." Bakura raised his right eyebrow, his foot now relaxed.

Marik felt his face heat up. He let out his best fake chuckle to hide it. "What are you talking about, Bakura?"

"Answer my question." Bakura demanded.

Marik rolled his eyes. "You're the only interesting thing in this bland room to look at. What do you expect?"

"What about the look?"

"What look?" Marik asked innocently. He really was innocent this time. He hadn't realized he'd been giving Bakura _a look_ at all.

"The one you were giving me." Bakura sounded impatient.

"I wasn't!" Marik held his hands up. "I swear!"

Bakura glared at him. It wasn't really a hateful glare, more suspicious.

"Stop looking at me like that." Marik muttered, averting his eyes.

"Then stop looking at me like _that_." Bakura spat the last word like it had a nasty taste.

"Like what…?"

Bakura's face wrinkled up. "Like you're afraid of me!"

Marik blinked in surprise. "I'm not...afraid of you, Bakura."

"Then stop acting like it. You haven't come over here and sat beside me like you usually do, and you're acting strange. And now, that _look_." Bakura scowled. "I hate it."

Marik's brow creased. Bakura seemed like the kind of person who would take pride in being feared. There was something off about him today…

And he'd probably mistaken Marik's nervousness as fear. Well, it was actually pretty close. Marik was afraid of Bakura…or rather, how he'd react if he ever found out about, er, Marik's feelings. He'd probably reject him horribly and tell him how stupid he was for even _thinking_ something like that, much less _voicing_ it!

"I'm sorry, Bakura. My mind is just a little bit preoccupied, that's all." Marik gave him a reassuring smile.

"Then you should probably go." Bakura spat coldly. He turned away from Marik, leaving the Egyptian to stare with wide, pained eyes at his back.

Marik nodded slowly, ignoring the fact that Bakura couldn't see his gesture. "A-alright. I'll see you on Wednesday."

He waited for a response. Hearing nothing, he left Bakura to his thoughts.

.

Bakura glared at his hand, as if it were the reason for his annoyance.

How dare that _boy_ fear him! After all they'd been through. Bakura was used to strangers being afraid of him—that was to be expected. But someone he knew? Someone he—dare he say it?—called a friend?

Never.

Granted, that wasn't many people, but he was sure friends weren't supposed to be afraid of friends.

What could have happened, anyway? The boy had heard him admit to murdering his own family! What could he have heard to cause him to fear Bakura after that…?

Bakura gnashed his teeth together. Why did he care, anyway? It's not as if the Egyptian _meant_ anything to him.

No one did. Because he was Bakura, and Bakura was too proud to care about anyone but himself.


	13. Coming Out

**A/N: Please excuse the delay of this chapter. I've had a rough time recently, but I'm going back to school in one more day, so it will all be good soon. I get to see my friends again after two whole months! That will certainly cheer me up…as will reviews. =)**

**Now for the disclaimer that I keep forgetting: Marik Ishtar, Yami Bakura, and anything else YGO related in no way belongs to me, nor am I trying to claim it. I just manipulate the characters by putting them into embarrassing situations, turning them gay, feeding them chocolate cake by force, making Marik a whiny Gary-Stu, pairing Kisara and Marik together briefly yet dramatically, and using poor Marik and Bakura to satisfy my sick craving for YGO yaoi. **

**But, you know, that's all…**

**..**

_The same day, while Marik and Bakura were talking; the lounge…_

As soon as the blonde boy left, Kisara noticed that the room went so silent, she could hear the ticking of the black clock that was hanging parallel to the door. The constant tick-tock was quite comforting to the young girl, who had poured salt (Sierra always kept a salt and pepper shaker on the lounge table, along with napkins) on the table in front of her and stared tracing a picture into the mess of white grains with her forefinger.

_First, the face shape._

Her eyebrows rose half a centimeter when she heard the doctor and his wife start to talk in hushed tones. She angled her head to her "drawing", and tried as best she could to listen in to the conversation.

_Next, add in the eyes._

"…Bakura…yes…" Sierra.

"…can't let them...further…dangerous…" The doctor. What was him name again…?

Kisara hated that she couldn't pick up much more of their conversation than every other word. One that had caught her attention, though, was Bakura. _Bakura_! _Bakura_!

She picked up the salt shaker and poured more salt over her drawing, ready to start over.

_First, the face shapes._

"Get over it, Julius. It's been weeks and they're both fine." The volume of Sierra's voice had risen in anger.

The doctor—his name was Julius?—hit his fist on the table. "But that doesn't mean that something isn't going to happen. I'm serious, Sierra. I have a really bad feeling about those two."

_Next, add in the eyes._

"Oh, come on. They're just two innocent teenage boys. One's in a straight jacket, for Christ's sake!"

_Now the hair—make the lines clean!_

"Oh, your idea of innocent is a maniacal kid who killed his own family and a boy who's only here for community service hours? That's logical. And Bakura being in a straight jacket means absolutely nothing. Marik could easily remove it, if he wanted." Doc rubbed his forehead, taking in a deep breath to calm himself.

_Trace an M beside the first face…._

Sierra frowned, fire still burning in her eyes. The argument was not over.

_A…_

"Doc, we've had this disagreement since the first time we saw Marik in that room with Bakura and you haven't gone to either of them about this once." Sierra pointed out. "Why?"

_R…_

Doc hesitated, and there was silence. The clock continued its maddening melody once again.

"Tick-tock…" Kisara muttered under her breath. Neither of the workers heard her, too absorbed in their irritation.

_I…_

"I never said anything to either of them…" He looked away, his glare slowly turning into a sad smile. "Because it would be wrong to go behind your back."

_K._

Kisara grinned down at her creation, her salt-drawing.

_Marik. Bakura! Tick-tock. Marik. Marik. Tick-tock. Marik. Tick-tock. Bakura!_

_Trace B-A-K-U-R-A beside the second face. Bakura! Tick-tock. Marik._

Sierra didn't say anything to Doc, so Kisara took the time to look up at her. She was smiling, a tear collecting in the outer corner of each of her eyes.

Kisara giggled, high-pitched and loud.

_Old people are emotional. Tick-tock._

Sierra's attention moved to Kisara, the smile still evident. As was the mascara running down the older woman's cheek, riding along with her only shed tear. "Come on, sweetie. I'll take you to your room for the night."

She stood up and wiped the tear, expertly hooking her finger around her eye to wipe up any more excess mascara while it was still wet, so it didn't stain her skin.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock." Kisara grinned, her piece of art forgotten. She took the woman's hand in her own and dashed noisily out of the room, dragging Sierra behind her. Despite her protests, Sierra was laughing like a school girl, trying to keep up with Kisara and her own hand so she didn't stumble to the floor.

.

Doc smiled as the two girls left, but as soon as he was in solitude, he quickly stood up to pace the room in thought, all cheer swept down the hall with Kisara and his beloved wife.

There was something odd between Bakura and Marik. He could feel it. There was something going on, and he didn't like the looks of it. Not one bit.

His brow creased in worry, and one thought rang through his mind:

He really needed to get sound installed in his security cameras, so he could both listen to them and see what they were doing.

Bakura may have grown up like a son to him, but that didn't mean Doc trusted him. He knew Bakura way to well for something like that.

Doc sighed, lifting a hand to his forehead. He was getting a headache.

He walked back over to the table to rest some more before going back to work, but something caught his eye.

There was a layer of dirt on his table.

He moved in for a closer inspection and realized that it was not dirt, but salt.

"What the…?" He squinted at it, leaning in closer.

A picture was traced through it, leaving multiple curvy lines of revealed tabletop that seemed to connect into one labyrinth.

Then he noticed two names traced into the salt.

Marik and Bakura.

He squinted closer at the squiggly lines that he assumed were supposed to make up a drawing. It took a moment for his eyes to get used to the white freckles-on-brown, but eventually he did find out what the picture was.

Two people kissing.

Marik and Bakura.

His only thought: _What the hell?_

..

_The next day, somewhere in the outskirts of Domino City, sundown…_

Marik revved his bike, laughing in a way that surely would have scared off most animals and small children, had there been any around. He couldn't help it, though. He loved the thrill his motorcycle offered—wind burn and all.

He was currently on his way to the Domino Cemetery**(1)**, which was a thirty minute drive from Odion's apartment—twenty-five if you hurried.

And Marik always hurried.

Before long, he was jumping the fence of the cemetery, the thorns of the pink rose he was carrying digging deep into his palm. He ignored the blood running through his fingers, though. He'd felt worse pain than a few pricks.

He wandered between graves, knowing exactly where he was going, even in the limited light of the sinking sun. He'd gone to his mom's grave so many times he'd lost count, bringing her a pink rose every time. Pink roses were her favorite, Odion had told him long ago. She used to say that they were bright and cheery, and just as romantic and meaningful as any _red_ rose.

Marik smiled softly. Tonight wasn't one of those nights he came to pay her his respects, like usual. Tonight, he had something to tell her.

He stepped over an infant grave, speeding up his pace.

He'd decided but a few hours ago that Mom should be the first to know about his love, and then he would tell Odion. And hopefully, if he could muster up the nerve and a perfect moment, Bakura would find out.

He shuddered at the thought, already able to feel Bakura's glare—a glare that mimicked the look he'd received on day one at the Institution.

Hateful.

Or maybe he would laugh cruelly and insult Marik.

Marik sighed. Why did his mind always shoot for worse-case scenario? It was _possible_, in the smallest percent, that Bakura would accept it, right? Maybe he would even get a kiss or two.

He couldn't help but chuckle at himself. Was it just him, or did love make _everyone_ delusional?

He spotted his mom's headstone, a heart-shaped block of granite that had her married name carved elegantly into the right side. The left had been reserved for his dad when he died.

_Like he deserves to be buried next to Mom_, Marik thought. The thought of his dad brought on memories of the rape—visions and images and _the pain_, oh the horrible pain, that Marik had been desperately trying to forget.

He shut them out, like usual.

Marik jumped over two married couples and a lone man, his feet sliding to a halt right before he rammed into his target: Mom's headstone.

He smiled sadly at her name for a moment, tracing over the words with his forefinger before setting the flower gently on top of the gravel where he assumed her chest would be. Or better yet, her heart.

"Hey, Mom." He said aloud, taking his zip-up hoodie off and laying it in the gravel that covered his parents' plots, careful not to sit it on his mom. He sat down on it and leaned back on the headstone, readying himself for a long night of discussing everything about Bakura with his mom.

"How is it down there?" He paused, giving her a moment to answer. "I hope you're doing well. I know it's been a while since I've come to see you, but life's been hectic, Mom. I got arrested."

He chuckled, wondering how his mom might have actually replied to that. Odion had always said she was a kindhearted woman, but had an iron fist when the situation called for it.

"But I think that was good for me. I've fallen in love, Mom, and it's all _because_ I was arrested."

He paused again, feeling a lump forming in his throat. He laughed, this time louder.

"Except he's not who you'd think, Mom. He wasn't who I was expecting, either." Marik bit down on his lip, willing the tears to stay inside of him. "First of all, he's a _he_."

A tear strayed past his defenses. He wondered why he was crying—he wasn't feeling at all sad. He was actually feeling quite jubilant, considering the situation. He was _only_ telling his dead mother about his gay love, you know.

A chuckle escaped his lips. "But he's wonderful, all things considered. I don't know how it happened so fast without my knowing, but I've definitely fallen really hard, Mom."

"He's handsome, too. And he has an odd sense of humor, one almost like mine." He pulled his knees to his chest, letting his now freely-flowing tears mark up the knees of his trousers. "He understands pain, too. He doesn't show it, but I know he can understand my emotions. We can talk openly to each other, without worrying if the other will judge us, because we both know neither of us are anywhere near perfect, innocent angels."

Marik laughed at the thought. He pictured Bakura as an angel, in a white robe. His arms were crossed embarrassedly, and he was glaring as if he hated his current getup. Marik had no doubt he would.

"But, Mom, I have one question for you."

He paused, letting more tears stain his jeans.

"Would you…would you approve of having a gay son?"

He gave her a moment to answer, before saying, "Too many people are against homosexuality, Mom. It's kind of scary, knowing there are so many people that would be more comfortable on Earth if I were _dead_."

His voice cracked on the last word. Dead_._

Marik sat in silence for a long time, though he didn't bother to keep track of how long. He thought mainly about Bakura, and how he _knew_ the older boy would be against his…attraction.

He pulled his knees closer to his chest, ignoring how his bones cracked and popped in protest. He buried his face between his knees, hoping to cry himself dry. When the tears never stopped, he began speaking again, this time focusing on some of the happier memories he'd shared with Bakura.

He told stories of hair braiding, and Care Bear vomit, finger-licking and nose frosting, and the time he'd asked Bakura what kind of music he listened to, and received nothing but a strange look in reply. The time he'd almost caught Bakura's bed sheets on fire. The time Bakura bit his arm after a friendly exchange of insults had turned not-so-friendly. The time he'd asked Bakura if he wore a shirt under his straight jacket, and gotten a dark chuckle as a reply. The time he'd stolen Bakura's left sock and hadn't given it back until the older had him pinned down by sitting on his chest, sticking his foot in Marik's face as an order for him to put the sock back on.

Marik's stomach was hurting from laughter by the time he finished all of his stories. The sun had gone down long ago, and he was sure that it was past nine o'clock.

"But you know, Mom, we're kind of fighting right now, I think." Marik frowned. "I'm not sure if it's a fight, really, but I know Bakura is mad at me. I just hope I can figure out why and fix it soon…"

"Anyway, I hope you can see why I love him so much." Marik blushed. "And I also hope you don't hate me for being…for being gay." He stood up, collecting his jacket and stuffing his arms back though the sleeves. "And now I've got to tell Odion, so wish me luck!"

Marik chuckled, kissing his finger and touching the headstone where his mom's name was carved. It was an odd thing to do, he knew, but it had become habit since the day he saw Odion do the same thing as he was readying to drive Marik home after an hour or two of sharing stories of her with his younger brother.

He always said he wished Marik had gotten a chance to get to know her, which only made Marik feel worse and worse about being her killer. Not that he'd ever told Odion about his guilt. Then his older brother might stop telling him the stories of his mom that he cherished just as much as any of his own memories.

He'd grown up listening to those tales of the mom he wished he'd not have damned, and he intended to die with them etched into his brain.

"Bye, Mom. I'll try to come visit you more often." He laughed to himself. "And I'm sorry for dumping all this on you in one night, but I needed to tell you."

He turned and walked away, calling behind him, "I don't think Bakura is going to take this well, so please wish me luck with that, too."

And with that, he ran all the way to the fence and hopped it. He mounted his motorcycle and drove off in the direction he'd come, the butterflies already swarming his stomach.

_How will you take the news, brother?_

..

_Meanwhile, Odion's apartment…_

Odion took in a deep breath, letting it out in a loud sneeze. He sniffled, returning to the book that was in his lap.

His eyes studied the pages, but his mind did not comprehend what he was reading. He was worried about his younger brother. He'd left a few hours ago, saying he was going out for a while and that he should be back soon.

Soon had passed long ago and now Odion's _my younger brother was kidnapped and gang raped _senses were going off. He did not like the feeling. But he had no idea where Marik might have gone, therefore no idea where to search for him.

He slammed his book shut, too distracted to read any more, and tossed it onto the coffee table. He turned the TV on and switched it to the news. It would certainly be "breaking news" if someone happened across a dead Egyptian kid in the middle of Domino City, right?

After half an hour of hearing no such news, Odion began to worry even more. He began to ponder the thought of investing in cell phones for him and Marik, for situations just like these. But it was so expensive…

But this thought was soon interrupted by something considerably scarier than cell phone bills.

What if Marik's dad had found him? He'd certainly be in crappy shape by the time he came crawling back home.

At this, Odion went off, running to the kitchen to get his keys from the counter. He would just drive around the city once and look for him…the first place he stopped being Marik's dad's house.

.

Outside Odion's front door, Marik braced himself with a huge intake of air. His key was in his hand, firmly digging into his palm as he gripped it way too tightly. There was still blood smeared over his skin from the rose thorns, but he didn't really care. Right now, all that mattered was telling Odion the secret he'd been keeping.

Marik wasn't really sure why he'd chosen _that day _as the day he would come out, but now that he'd made up his mind, there was no going back. It had happened some time in school, which was where Marik did most of his thinking. What else was there to do? Learn? Psh-aw.

He jammed the key into the lock and slung the door open, marching into the apartment and slamming the door behind him. "Odion!" he called. "Odion, we need to talk!"

Marik heard a noise in the kitchen and headed that way, still occasionally calling his brother's name until he heard a muffled response of: "I heard you the first time!"

"Then why didn't you answer?" Marik said, now walking into the kitchen to his brother holding his car keys to his chest as if they were his lifeline.

"I thought you were dead." He admitted, breaking into a relieved grin. He threw his keys back at the counter, missing and denting the bottom cupboard. He didn't seem to notice, though, as he was too busy embracing Marik so tightly that the smaller boy couldn't breathe.

He kept muttering something about the news and dead children, but Marik wasn't really listening. He had to tell Odion before he lost his confidence.

"Odion, we need to talk." Marik repeated, trying his best to sound decent even though his lungs were currently being crushed by 200 pounds of Odion.

Odion pulled away and pressed the heels of his hands on his eyelids. "Sorry. I thought you were dead."

He chuckled, realizing how stupid he probably sounded, repeating that statement. Marik had been gone for no more than four hours, and he'd automatically jumped to two conclusions: dead or on the verge of death.

"Anyway, what do you need?" Odion cleared his throat, embarrassed about how worked up he'd been over nothing.

Marik closed his eyes, angling his head to the floor. Odion could tell he was grinning, and possibly trying to hide a blush. "You might want to sit down for this."

Odion nodded, sensing the seriousness of the conversation even past Marik's laid-back façade. He led the younger into the TV/dining room and plopped down on the couch. Marik followed, but sat as far away from his brother as possible. Odion noticed this, too.

He was very observant when it came to Marik, because he was so used to the younger boy that he could tell if there was a shift in his body language, and he could very well guess what might be wrong, usually. But this time, he was at a loss.

Marik used the current silence as a chance to prepare himself for embarrassment, his heart pounding against his chest. He felt sweat collect at the back of his neck, and his stomach flip over anxiously.

Telling someone who was alive was a lot harder than telling a heart-shaped hunk of granite.

He swallowed hard, realizing that his mouth was suddenly extremely dehydrated. He chuckled nervously. "Er, Odion. I'm…"

Odion raised an eyebrow, wondering to himself what could have Marik so worked up.

"I'm…" Marik swallowed again. "I've got this thing to tell you…"

"Then say it." Odion said, eyeing his brother suspiciously. There was something seriously wrong with the way he was acting.

"It's not that easy." Marik felt his face heat up. "Promise me you won't be mad."

"What did you break?"

"Nothing."

"Sell?"

"Nothing."

"Steal?"

Marik shook his head. "None of that, I promise."

Odion's eyes widened. "Then what is it? Certainly, you're not planning on making me guess."

Marik grinned. "That's not a bad idea, actually."

"Marik…"

Marik nodded, repeating, "Promise me you won't be mad, and I'll tell you."

"I promise." Odion held out his smallest finger, a childish habit the two hadn't grown out of.

Marik held out his own, and as their fingers entwined and they became one being, Marik quickly spluttered, "I'm gay."

There was a silence for a moment, as Odion stared at their hands. "What was that?"

"You heard me." Marik whispered, any humor and hope he might have had replaced by more fear at his brother's reaction.

And Odion had heard him, quite clearly, actually. He let out a laugh, pulling his hand away from Marik's and taking Marik's face in his hands. He looked into the other's eyes.

"Marik…" Odion chuckled again, checking the size of his brother's pupils. "Marik, are you high?"

Marik's brow creased as he shook out of his brother's grasp, averting his eyes. "Not this time, I'm afraid."

"So you're really…?" Odion's voice had grown quiet, and Marik didn't know how to interpret this. He wouldn't dare meet the other's eyes again, though. He was too afraid of seeing disappointment…like that day at the jail. "Is this the problem you've been so worked up about?"

Marik nodded, feeling the threat of tears. He didn't want Odion to know he'd cried over this, though, and that was why he'd stopped at a local gas station to clean himself up after seeing his mom, to make sure no extremely evident traces of tears remained.

He closed his eyes tightly, to push back the tears as long as he could. He was such a crybaby! Couldn't he go just one week without crying like a normal person? Surely, if everyone else in Japan could do it, he should be able to, right?

"Look at me." Odion ordered.

When Marik didn't, he stood up and grabbed Marik by the shoulders, forcing their eyes to meet. Marik's usually bright orbs were smeared with red, probably from crying, Odion realized. It made sense that he hadn't noticed the light smudges of pink until he was right in front of Marik's face, this time not with the thought that his brother had been doing drugs.

"Do you really think being gay will affect anything?" Odion glared at his brother, a sure sign that he meant business. "You're still the same Marik, you know."

He squeezed his younger brother's shoulders encouragingly. "Gay or not, you're my little brother."

Marik couldn't decide whether to laugh, cry, or grin and tackle his brother in a hug. He decided on just smiling, holding back any hysterics for later. "Thank you."

Odion released his brother and took his seat on the couch. The TV was still on the news, as Odion had forgotten to turn it off. "I'm still pretty surprised though. I'd always known you were a bit feminine, but…gay? Never would have guessed."

Marik let out a throaty noise that sounded a bit like a laugh, the knots in his stomach slowly unwinding. He still had more to say…

And as if on cue, Odion asked, "So, what brought this on, anyway?"

Marik blushed. "That's a funny story, actually."

He paused, trying to look for the words. Odion stared at him expectantly, not really sure if he wanted his question answered or not, judging by the mischievous grin on Marik's face…

"You'll laugh." Marik looked down at his lap, embarrassed.

"Okay, if it involves anything sexual, please don't—"

Odion was interrupted by Marik's frantic head shaking along with a stream of protests. "No, nothing like that."

Marik cleared his throat awkwardly. "I, er, fell in love."

Marik had made a good decision when he'd told Odion to sit down for his _news_, as he was sure his buttocks would have painfully rendezvoused with the floor right then and there, had he been standing.

"Whoa, that's a big word to use, Marik. You sure?" Odion cocked an eyebrow. "It could be love's friendly little neighbor, lust…"

Marik shook his head. "I've already considered that. It's not."

Odion's brow creased. Marik was sixteen, and already deciding he was gay, and in love. There was something wrong with that. "Then tell me, who's the lucky, um, guy?"

"This…if nothing else has upset you, this will." Marik chose his words carefully.

"Gang member?" Odion guessed.

Amused, Marik shook his head. He was grinning.

"School jock?"

The younger brother's face crinkled in disgust. "No. Not even close."

"Is it someone at school?"

Marik shook his head again. "You're getting colder and colder."

"Wait. Oh, my God. Is it Mr. Roan in apartment 2D?" Odion's eyes widened in horror.

"Eew, no. He's old. And just because he looks like a creeper doesn't mean he's, like, a pedophile or something." Marik rolled his eyes. "Why are you trying to pair me with a bunch of losers, anyway? Think I can't do better?"

Odion laughed. "I just don't know who else it could be."

Marik chuckled. "You give?"

Odion nodded, smirking. "Tell me."

Marik couldn't help but notice how that conversation could've easily been carried on by two thirteen-year-old girls having a sleepover. "Remember that guy I told you about after my first day at the Institution? The one named Bakura?"

"Yes." After he uttered that one word, Odion seemed to get what Marik was aiming for. "You didn't. Isn't he supposed to be off-limits to you?"

"Well, yeah. But you know how I am with rules…" Marik scratched the back of his head. "And it's not like I _meant_ to. Bakura doesn't even know yet."

Odion sighed. "Marik, you've really screwed up this time."

Marik shot Odion a sarcastic laugh. "Oh, thanks so much for reminding me."

"I'm serious. How do you expect to fix this?" Odion had a concerned tinge in his eyes, like he always did when he and Marik talked sincerely about something.

Marik thought for a moment. "I think I have two choices:

1) I keep this to myself and endure whatever pain comes when I don't ever get to see him again after my hours are up.

2) I tell him, and probably get the shit beat out of me by a guy in a straight jacket."

Odion blinked in surprise. "What do you mean by that? Is he not…gay?"

Marik shrugged. "I haven't figured that out yet."

"So you fell in love with a _straight guy_ who just happens to be _locked up in a mental institution_, and is currently labeled as the only truly "dangerous" patient?"

Marik nodded slowly. "When you put it that way…"

He let his words hang.

Out of the blue, Odion started laughing, his hysterics growing even _more_ hysteric with each breath he took. "Only you could get yourself into something like this, Marik." He said between gasps for air.

And, Marik, seeing his problem from someone else's point of view for the first time, couldn't help but chuckle himself.

After Odion was done with his laughing fit, he decided that it wasn't too early for gay jokes. "Oh, and I have one condition."

Marik nodded. "What might that be?"

"No cross dressing in the house." Odion laughed at Marik's expression, which was some odd combination of shock, anger and humor, as if Marik couldn't figure out whether his brother was kidding or not.

He was.

Kind of.

..

**A/N:**

**1: Don't my creative names just startle you every time? **

**And, yes, before anyone says anything, I realize that not all gays cross dress. It was a joke, people. =)**

**This chappie was full of foreshadow. And it was kind of a filler chapter. But at least I finally updated…? –smile sheepishly-**


	14. Lunacy Fringe

**A/N: I named this chapter after the song **_**Lunacy Fringe **_**by **_**The Used. **_**I heard the opening lines a week or so ago, and I started giggling like a loser. It reminds me so much of Marik and his little problem, especially the last line, because that is **_**totally**_** something Marik would say when admitting to someone. **

**Dedication: This is to my aunt, who is currently in the hospital. Odds are, she will die and it will be soon. And I guess somehow in my delusional mind, I think that dedicating this to her will help. I love her a lot and I really, really want her to be okay because World of Warcraft just won't be the same without her. So let's hope she'll be okay. If not for me, then for my mom, uncle, and cousin, who is only two years older than me at age 15. That's way too young for such a trauma of losing someone so important. **

**..**

_Wednesday, week six; The Institution…_

It wasn't a hard task for Marik to tune out the swooning nurses in the lounge as he sat on the dryer, waiting for it to finish heating the wet out of the bed sheets (and a few items of clothing this time, Marik noticed) so he could get back to some other task that didn't involve nurses crazier than the patients they were treating.

That was the thing Marik had noticed about the Domino Institution—everyone there was crazy, in his eyes. Even the _frigging doctor _was a little messed up in the head.

Sad thing was, he was pretty sure some of the crazy had rubbed off on him. Maybe it came with the job.

Or maybe it had come from spending so much time with Bakura. Marik couldn't help but smirk, even though he knew that was impossible. Bakura wasn't even really insane. More along the lines of…disturbed, if not a bit twisted.

But that was okay; Marik didn't mind. Honestly, he rather liked the idea. That fondness probably came from Marik's own inner self—a part of him he _knew_ was more like Bakura than himself.

"What are you grinning for, cutie?"

Marik's head snapped over to the circular table that the nurses were gathered around in their usual huddle.

It had been the young blonde one, Beatrice, that had spoken to him.

He replied by replacing his smirk with his sweetest smile. "Nothing, Bee. Just waiting for the dryer to finish up."

She giggled at the nickname, which Marik had given her upon finding out that she was allergic to bee stings. "Aw, but then you'll have to go and we won't have anyone to admire."

The nurses, of course, were all supposed to be on duty, set aside one or two who should have been on break right about now, since it was three-fourths of the way through Marik's shift and they would start serving the afternoon meal soon. He'd memorized most of the nurses' schedules, as he often took over some of their duties when they were absent. And he quite liked that idea, working as a nurse. He loved socializing with the patients, especially Yugi who was undoubtedly his favorite.

Aside from Bakura, of course, but that should go without saying.

"They'll be done in a little bit." Marik said. He would have really preferred some sort of physical labor. That often made the time move faster, which meant seeing Bakura quicker. Even though he was currently angry with Marik, a thought that had been bugging him all day. He knew Bakura was angry, but he didn't really understand why. Figuring that out and fixing it was his main goal for the day.

A petite brunette pouted. Marik recognized her as Chloe, who was assigned to take care of a couple of the patients he had not gotten acquainted with.

"B-but I don't want you to go. It's boring in here without you."

Marik didn't bother to point out how he hadn't even been participating in the conversation. And no matter how much he wanted to blurt it out, he held his tongue on the matter of how annoying it was to be clung to by a bunch of women he didn't even really know.

.

The clothes took longer than expected to finish, and the whole time the dryer was stirring and buzzing under his body, he wondered why Doc couldn't give him something to do while the clothes were washing and drying. (Marik could easily come and check up on them every forty-five minutes or so!) Doc had done that the first two weeks Marik had been working at the Institution, but had stopped for some reason. Marik was sure it had something to do with Sierra asking Doc to stop overworking him. He hadn't heard her utter the words, but somehow he could tell that that was probably the case.

He knew she had his best interest in mind when she did that, but unfortunately, his interests were morphed in Sierra's vision.

Eventually, the dryer did gently pound its way to a halt and the door at the top clicked unlocked. The second he'd heard the _clack_, he'd hopped up and dragged the clothes out of the dryer to fold.

He did this with expert ease, unable to forget the time Evelyn, another of the nurses, had shown him how to fold a sheet.

Marik didn't like to think about it, but Evelyn had certainly been a bit more hands-y than was necessary for folding large rectangles of thin cloth.

He set the clean sheets in a basket on the floor and the shirts on the counter, unsure what to do with them. The basket went to storage every day to be emptied of clean sheets for the next morning, when it was once again filled with dirty ones.

It was usually Marik who got stuck washing them.

After making sure the sheets were stacked neatly as possible, he checked the clock and almost gasped when he realized it was only a few more minutes until he was off duty. Fortunately, he'd avoided a round of questions by holding in his gesture of surprise. Instead, he glanced over at the women at the table who were busy muttering amongst themselves, adding in an occasional giggle. He'd seen the girls at his school do the same thing all too often not to wonder what was so was darn funny. Was it some sacred joke between females that men were never allowed to hear?

He had a feeling that he would never know.

He shrugged silently and sneaked over to the door, feeling way too relieved when he managed to make it out of the staff lounge with no one stopping him and asking him to stay a bit longer. He could have gotten out of a situation like that eventually, but that annoying part of his brain that yearned for Bakurawas squealing with anticipation and Marik wasn't sure how much longer he could wait.

With this thought, he sped up his pace as he walked down the hall. It wasn't long before he reached his destination, silently noting how there had been a nameplate made for Kisara that was hanging proudly on the door beside Bakura's. They'd probably just had it made recently, since that was the first time Marik had seen it and he walked past Bakura's door several times during the day.

He leaned on the wall and dug in his shoe for the key, his heart skipping a beat when he fingered it under the bridge of his foot. He whipped it out and stared at it for a moment.

Was it really wise to go in there? After all, Bakura was angry with him. Something about Marik being afraid of him.

Or maybe Marik was blowing everything out of proportion. The two had fought on various occasions, sometimes even getting rather violent with each other. But Marik always knew they were good-natured scraps, and Bakura's idea of playing was very different than most people's, which really meant that he enjoyed the violent moments and fights that they shared much more than he should have.

Maybe Bakura was playing a game.

Marik decided it was likely, ignoring his logic. It said: _It's not a game, dumbass. Just go make up with him and everything will be alright. _

Instead of "making up", Marik's plan was to pretend like nothing had happened.

He shoved the key into the lock and opened the door, grinning at Bakura once their eyes met.

You know those awkward moments that seem to last, like, half a minute? Yeah. This one consisted of Marik flashing a toothy, idiotic smile whereas Bakura just stared at the younger with bloodshot eyes, as if he'd been awake for too many hours.

Maybe he had, Marik realized. But that was about his only thought before Bakura raised an eyebrow as if Marik was supposed to be saying something.

"What?" Marik blinked twice, trying to look as innocent has possible so Bakura would know he wasn't just being annoying like usual, and making Bakura explain his motives. He knew the older hated doing that, but he loved seeing him roll his eyes and sigh to imply that Marik was on a lower intelligence level and then scowl as he explained himself.

He loved it when Bakura crinkled his nose, which came along with his scowl every time. Marik couldn't help but admit—it was _very_ cute.

_Hmm, cute? _Marik wondered to himself. _When did I start using words like "cute" to describe _Bakura_? He would probably hate being called _cute_._

"I could say the same to you." Bakura said.

Marik jumped at this, at first thinking that the white-haired boy had somehow heard his thoughts. Then, realizing that that was absurd, he smiled lightly. He was standing by the door again, even though he knew that this might annoy Bakura. He just couldn't summon up the _nerve_ to go any closer to someone he had such strong feelings for.

"You mean "what"?"

Bakura, just as Marik had guessed he would, sighed and rolled his eyes. His face wrinkled into that scowl. "Yes."

"Obviously, I'm here to see you." _Play it smooth, that's right,_ Marik thought. _That sounded slightly suggestive, though. _

He was overanalyzing himself, but it couldn't really be stopped. He did that when he was nervous.

And he was _anxious_.

"After what I said to you?" Bakura's scowl had faded, and was now a huge, knowing smirk.

Marik opened his mouth to say something stupid, but closed it after half a second. He thought for a moment, chewing on his lip. He decided to drop his "Bakura was playing a game" theory and go with his logic. "You were angry. People do dumb things when they're mad."

"Wait." Bakura sat up, slinging his feet over the side of the bed. "_Were_? Past tense? What if I'm _still_ angry?"

Marik chuckled. "Then I suppose you'll have to get over it, because I'm not going anywhere."

Bakura puckered his lips, his brow creasing in thought. He stayed like that for a while, and Marik was beginning to fear that he'd upset Bakura for the second time that week.

He was so relieved to let these thoughts go when Bakura muttered, "Fine."

Then he was forced to shoulder more fears.

"But I still want an explanation." Bakura's glare meant business.

"For?"

"You know what I mean." Bakura rolled his eyes, then added. "You're not _that _stupid."

Marik smirked. He knew exactly what Bakura meant. He needed to stall though, so he could think of a good excuse. He let his mouth hang open for a few seconds, looking for words. When they didn't come, Bakura started growing impatient.

"Come here." He demanded.

Without thinking, Marik shook his head. He averted his eyes, knowing he was blushing way too deeply for it to go unnoticed, especially by Bakura's eyes, which seemed to be trained to find anything that could result in the other person in the room being uncomfortable.

"If you don't come over here, I'm coming over there. The distance it distracting, and, frankly, it hurts my neck to sit up like this." Bakura's smirk was amused, yet curious at the same time. It was an odd combination, but in all honesty, there wasn't anything about the pale boy that wasn't odd.

Marik rolled his eyes and mumbled something along the lines of, "You're so immature."

Arms crossed, he made his way over to Bakura's bed. "How is distance distracting, anyway?"

Bakura shrugged, something Marik had never seen him do before. "Simple: you're usually over here."

Marik didn't know whether to be annoyed that Bakura was so picky, or flattered that his presence was apparently needed for a sense of normalcy.

He took a seat at the foot of the bed, and ignored the glare Bakura gave him. Marik would usually sit closer to Bakura's midsection or head, not his feet. Granted, his feet weren't there at the moment, but Marik had no doubt that Bakura was planning on stretching out over the bed. He looked pretty tired, bags under his eyes and all. Marik wondered what could have kept him up so late that his eyes had actually gone bloodshot.

"What are you waiting for?" Bakura interrupted Marik's thoughts.

"Can we please just skip this?" Marik was trapped between Bakura and a wall. Literally. And their close proximity was not helping calm down the rate of his heart.

Marik could have laughed at himself. He'd been longing to see Bakura since they said goodbye on Monday, and now he wished he were anywhere else.

"You could just admit that you're afraid of me, and save the lying for someone gullible." Bakura's face was unreadable to Marik.

"But I'm not!" Marik insisted.

"Then stop acting like it." Bakura smirked, and Marik knew at that moment that Bakura wasn't planning on letting him leave without finding out what was wrong.

"I'm not." Marik repeated stubbornly.

Bakura laughed. "Oh?"

He pulled the rest of his body onto the bed and crawled closer to Marik. Marik was pretty sure his eyes grew half an inch wider with every second, as Bakura drew nearer to him. Soon, the older was just about nose-to-nose with Marik, and smirking violently.

The spot of Marik's brain that was still able to think clearly couldn't help but notice that that was the craziest he'd ever seen Bakura look since the day they met.

"You look pretty scared to me." Bakura breathed.

Marik's face heated up as he blinked in horror. He could feel Bakura's breath on his lips…it would just take half an instant to close the distance between their faces...

He ignored how his heart struck against his ribcage with eagerness and his instincts told him to go for it, instead jerking away, scooting closer to the edge of the bed. "You're acting really strange today, Bakura."

Marik swallowed hard, pulling his feet on to the bed so he could hold his knees to his chest. He had found that it was a very comfortable way to sit, and he needed all the comfort he could get. He knew he would soon regret denying his lust and not kissing Bakura, even if it would have probably ended in him getting beaten up. At least then Bakura would know how he felt, rejected in the worst way or not.

"_I'm _acting strange?" Bakura bared his teeth in some sort of viciously amused smirk. "I am acting in accordance to your odd behavior, I'll have you know."

Marik's brow creased in confusion. He pulled his knees closer to his torso. "That doesn't make any sense, Bakura."

The older boy cocked his head to the side, his lips faintly puckered. He'd relaxed into a sitting position facing Marik, not as close as he had been but still close enough to make the back of Marik's neck tingle in unease. "Sure it does. It means that I'm going to draw out whatever you're hiding by manipulating your emotions. It's quite simple, really."

Bakura smirked broadly at the visible bead of nervous sweat slowly rolling across Marik's forehead, travelling in the wrinkles his furrowed brow provided. He was getting closer to cracking the Egyptian worker, he could tell.

At first, Bakura had been fairly angry that all evidence pointed to Marik actually fearing him. All his life, Bakura had been widely feared by most people. (The ones that had any bloody common sense, that is.) But he had grown so accustomed to this Marik's seemingly daring approach to the patient who had murdered his _own mother_ out of sheer boredom.

And then everything changed. Marik's aura, his usually carefree laugh, the way his eyes always sparked with defiance, his body language—all had become something entirely new. Everything about him now radiated trepidation and the dog-like quality of "sniff before you touch". **(1)**

And Bakura, he hated to admit, hadn't had a clue how to react to this, so he had done something that was simply _him_—he became angry. But he'd stayed up until ridiculous hours of the morning, considering what he would do upon seeing Marik the next day. If he even bothered to show up, that is. Even by Bakura's standards, he'd been pretty rude in his improvised reaction.

But he had decided that he should not be angry. He had decided that he should deny that that was the case, and find out the true dilemma at once.

Marik pouted, jutting his bottom lip out like a young child who had not received that cool new video game for his birthday. "This isn't fair…"

"Did I ever say that I was fair?" Bakura winked, something Marik thought made him look dangerously gorgeous.

Marik frowned, abandoning his pout once he realized that it wasn't getting him anywhere. "You could cut me some slack, Bakura. I am your friend, aren't I?"

Bakura cocked an eyebrow. "Stop whining—you sound like a weakling."

"Do you have a clichéd line for everything?"

The elder shrugged, letting a gritty smirk accompany the gesture. "Possibly."

There was a silence, which Marik found to be very awkward. After a moment, he grew tired of the tense feeling weighing him down and stood up.

"I'm going to go, Bakura."

"Without sharing your secret? How disappointing." Bakura sighed. "Oh, well. There's always tomorrow, I suppose." He paused, thinking over his words. "Tomorrow is Thursday, correct?"

Marik rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his annoyance at Bakura's persistence. "Yes, it is. But I don't have to come back, you know, if you're planning on doing that _manipulation_ thing again."

Bakura chuckled. "Liar. You know you'll be back."

Marik smiled at those words, leaving the room through the looming white door with the fishing bauble doorknob. Bakura could read him so well—too well for Marik's own good.

And he wondered—why couldn't Bakura figure out Marik's feelings, if he was so good at reading emotions? Marik pondered on the subject for a long time, standing outside Bakura's room door, his eyes closed in deep thought. And then suddenly, an idea came to him.

Bakura couldn't figure out Marik's feelings because the older boy was simply ignorant to the idea of someone _loving_ him—the actual way that involved affectionate hugs and kisses and kind words and crescent smiles that didn't represent vindictive delight or just plain cruelty.

_Oh, Bakura…You poor thing, _Marik thought, feeling his face scrunch up, as if he could feel Bakura's pain—an ancient, awful ache that the older boy had obviously been repressing for quite some time.

"_Tick-tock_ says the clock!" The sudden whisper—so close to his ear, yet so soft, as if carried to him by a distant wind—was what brought Marik from his sympathetic stupor.

His eyes travelled in the direction of the stir, meeting those of Kisara—so bright and round, full of energy.

He spoke his first thought: "Whaa!"

"Tick-tock, Marik." Kisara grinned, resting her chin on his shoulder. She had sneaked up beside him while he was thinking, Marik guessed. Either that, or she had learned to teleport, which Marik found highly unlikely.

He shook his head to clear his mind of its current confused state, managing to mutter his second thought: "Why aren't you in your room?"

She shrugged, her grin growing. "I escaped."

_Escaped? Quite the word choice…_Marik thought, raising an eyebrow at the white-haired girl beside him.

"Tick-tock." She said to Marik, grabbing him by the wrist as if afraid that he would turn and walk away. Marik didn't bother to pull free.

"Why do you keep saying that?" He asked, trying to sound as gentle as possible.

"I'm copying the clock. It says tick-tock, and so do I." Kisara nodded matter-of-factly.

Marik bit his lip, thinking about how there were no clocks in the hallway. The girl couldn't have been over thirteen or fourteen and she was already so far into her condition, so disconnected from the world.

"I'm going to take you back into your room now, okay, Kisara?" Marik grabbed her by the hand, forcing her to release her grip on his wrist.

But her feet didn't budge. "Tick-tock! Tick-tock!"

He frowned at her. "What are you trying to do?"

"The clock is saying tick-tock every second. Time is passing." Kisara grinned, looking way too animalistic for such a small girl. "We're all going to grow old and _die_, because our lives are weaved in with the tick of the clock."

Marik's jaw hit the floor. "D-did you just…make sense?"

Kisara continued on with her explanation. "The clock is a tune we all dance to—every day, forever and ever. But everyone has dreams that they want to achieve before _their_ forever ends. Don't you, Marik?"

Marik blinked, confused beyond words. He must have been imagining things, or maybe Kisara had switched bodies with someone who wasn't _completely and totally mad_.

"The clock isn't going to slow down for you. Time will keep passing, whether you want it to or not." Kisara's face was the same grin, as if she were enjoying stumping Marik. She pulled their entwined hands up to her face and ran the tip of her nose along the tanned skin around Marik's knuckles, her eyes closed so she could concentrate on his flesh—the smell of hard work, and the warm comforting feel of the blue blood rushing through his veins.

"Kisara…" Marik whispered. Her sudden change in personality had certainly stunned him, but at the same time, it was a bit daunting. She sounded so depressing that Marik couldn't help but wonder what kind of pain _she _was repressing.

She made a throaty sound, something Marik could only describe as a low chuckle.

"_Tick-tock_ says the clock…"

..

**A/N: **

**1: Not literally, of course…That would be quite entertaining, though.**

**There wasn't as much light-heartedness in this chapter as there was in my others, and I apologize for that. But in all honesty, I like how it turned out. It has a serious, depressing tone that I need to practice more often. **

**Reviews make me smile, and I could use a good smile right about now!**


	15. Sick, in Mind and Body

**A/N: (Aug. 21, 2010) There was a mistype in the last chapter that I really HAD to fix. It was where Marik was leaving, and he said "if you're planning on doing that **_**mutilation **_**thing again". I meant to make him say "**_**manipulation**_**", but I failed. I fixed it already, but I just wanted to let you guys know that I managed to screw up the "point" of the last chapter, Bakura mind fucking Marik. I thought that that was kind of funny…**

**Also, for those of you who might be wondering, my aunt is better now, sort of. She managed to pull together and pull through, even though her body had already started shutting itself down for death. So, thanks a lot for your sympathy and support, guys! I appreciate it a whole bunch! (I'm tearing up as I type this…I'm such a softie. ^.^)**

**Once again, I feel obligated to let you guys know how **_**awesome, awesome, awesome**_** you are as my readers and how much I will miss you guys and this story when it's completed, which it soon will be.**

_.._

_Thursday, 3:52 A.M.; Odion's apartment…_

His own merciless thoughts were what kept Marik awake, up into unreasonable hours in the morning. Being him, he was focused on the only thing he had been able to focus on for a while:

Bakura.

But this time, Marik's thoughts wandered over to the girl who so resembled his love, with her long white locks and mysterious way her lips upturned in the simplest of smiles, even when the situation called for a gesture less amused and ebullient.

_Tick-tock, says the clock._

That sentence composed of naught but five words confused Marik to no end. Looking at it in a philosophical way, Kisara could have been referring to Marik's procrastination in admitting to Bakura. Looking at it in a realistic way, she was probably just being the perfect kind of crazy at the perfect time.

The latter being more likely, Marik wanted to believe in the former. No matter how absurd the thought of Kisara knowing about his feelings toward the forbidden patient, it gave Marik a sense of…safety. That would mean two people in the world knew about his sexual orientation, and both of them accepted it.

Granted, one of them was pretty much bound to love Marik with the duty of a big brother, and the other was locked up in the coo-coo house for all eternity, but it was still comforting to him.

As Marik sprawled out over the couch in Odion's TV room, he let himself think one thought before finally drifting into a much needed slumber. There would be no more procrastination, no more ifs or maybes. No more fears. He would let them go, shoo them away with a smile on his face.

_Today is the day, Bakura_, he thought in his muddy-minded state of half-consciousness.

..

_The Domino Institution, later that day…_

The examination room was where Marik spent most of his time when conversing with the patients, a rare pleasantry. Doc had once said that his patients liked the spacious room, especially the young, spiky-haired Yugi Moto, who was currently spinning around in the swivel chair that Doc had set in front of his desk—the one he never used.

Marik sat _on_ the desk, watching the small boy have a blast with something as simple as an everyday computer chair.

First, Yugi would spin himself around using his feet until his speed was satisfyingly dizzying.

Second, he would spread his legs and let them catch the wind until he slowed down, giggling childishly as he gripped the back of the chair he was sitting backwards in, throwing his head back so he could feel the cool air slap his cheeks.

Third, he would repeat the action.

Marik found that Yugi's laughter was a good background noise for thinking, but he had figured he'd done enough of that recently, and instead decided to focus on the boy in front of him.

"Hey, Yugi?" He asked.

The smaller boy stopped spinning.

"Yeah?" He grinned, his hair messy and wind-touched. Or, more so than usual.

Marik was pretty sure that the Yugi he was actually talking to was Tam.

Yugi had two main personalities:

The one Marik called Tam, an innocent, naïve kind of person who would do anything to make someone else happy, no matter his own cost. The other was one Yugi had named; Yami. Marik wasn't sure why he'd chosen that name exactly. He didn't often talk to Yami, but more often Tam. Tam was definitely dominant, and Marik had come to assume that Tam was Yugi's actual personality—or it would be, if the young boy didn't have multiple personalities.

What's odd was Marik wasn't sure if that last thought made sense, even to him. He smirked. Wasn't that an early sign of insanity? Thinking things that even _you _didn't really understand?

"Have you ever had a crush on a girl?" Marik asked, smiling slightly when the younger boy blushed. "You don't have to answer if you don't feel comfortable."

"'Course I have." He replied, his blush growing deeper by the syllable. He stared at floor, suddenly uninterested in Marik's warm lavender eyes. "Soma hasn't though. He's the only one of us who refuses to grow up."

The words surprised Marik, since Tam was so…childish. There he was, talking about how someone else refused to grow up. It almost made him wonder if another personality had taken over. But Marik knew better—Yugi's transitions were usually easy to detect, as all his personalities were brutally different.

And Soma, obviously, was another of Yugi's personalities (Marik wasn't sure exactly how many of them there were, but he knew it was probably under eight, as he had only named seven). Soma was the type of guy that always had you wondering "_is he high?_" when in reality he was just incredibly idiotic.

"Why do you ask?" Yugi was the first to speak after a moment of silence.

"I was just wondering, honestly." Marik admitted.

"Oh." Yugi grinned, his blush returning. "Have _you _ever had a crush on a girl?"

Marik felt himself choke on an intake of breath, and while he was coughing, he wondered if that was even possible. After his coughing fit was over, and he decided that he had choked on Yugi's words or maybe his own surprise, he smiled nervously.

"Well…" He cleared his throat, hoping his stalling would be passed off as the aftermath of his coughing fit. "Kind of…Yes."

"Kind of…?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"How can you "kind of"—"

"Yes." Marik interrupted.

Another silence, until Yugi blinked in confusion.

"What?" He scratched his forehead.

"I said yes."

"To what?" Yugi's lip was trembling, the poor boy. His huge eyes had widened, and his eyelids were repeatedly dropping, so as to clear up the situation or maybe block it out.

"Your…question?" Marik hadn't meant to make the statement sound like an inquiry.

"But I asked more than one…" Yugi was gripping his head now, and Marik was to the point of hoping that he hadn't _broken_ the poor boy, who obviously wasn't used to disorder.

Marik decided that silence was the best answer, so as not to confuse Yugi anymore.

And it was in that very conversation that Marik realized how utterly hopeless he was under pressure, which was not a good thought for someone who was just half an hour away from professing love to a man who _couldn't _feel it back.

Yugi, oblivious to Marik's emotional mess, went back to spinning around in his chair, and a comfortable silence fell between the two.

..

Marik spent the rest of his shift with Yugi, and then escorted him back to his room, just as Doc had asked him to do with every patient he spent time with. That was the condition, after Marik had asked if he would ever be able to converse with the patients and get to know them better after three weeks of physical labor at the Institution.

And, plus, Yugi's room was right down the hall from Bakura's.

Yugi gave him a good-bye hug, which Marik always thought was a bit awkward, since he was so much taller, and Yugi's face always ended up buried in his stomach, before receding into his room for the night.

After the door was shut, and Marik was sealed in the lonely white hallway, he felt his stomach start to wad itself up like half-finished homework at the bottom of a high school student's backpack.

He remembered his groggy thought from the early morning:

_Today is the day, Bakura._

His face hardened and he willed his stomach to relax. (It didn't.) He had all intentions of telling Bakura. He did, really. But it was going to be a lot harder than just _spitting it out_.

He would probably end up making a fool out of himself.

_No! _said his rational side. _No, you won't. You're going to go in there and tell him, and you're going to do it with pride and make him love you back, no matter what, Marik Ishtar. _

His front teeth habitually worked away at his bottom lip, and he didn't stop when pain started coming from the biting. He didn't stop when he tasted blood, either.

_You're such a wimp. It's not that hard to say three words. Do you even remember what Kisara said? Who cares if she was just being crazy? Her madness could be the perfect motivation for you. _

_Remember?_

He remembered.

_The clock won't stop for you._

He ground his teeth together, bottom lip forgotten. "The clock" wasn't going to stop just because he was a huge loser. A huge, gay loser. A huge, gay, unattractive, horrible loser. A disgrace to humanity. Just another coffee stain on the rug.

_Stop pitying yourself. What would Bakura say if he heard you thinking things like that?_

Marik sighed, deciding that maybe that would help clear his mind. He hated it when his rational side came out to talk. It was so _rude_, and seemingly enjoyed kicking him when he was down.

The worst part of it was that it was right. His rational side**(1)** was always right, no matter what. He hated its…logical way of speaking, how it approached everything with _nagging_.

Marik knew he was procrastinating, but his stomach had relaxed some. He now felt like, maybe, _possibly_ he might not blow chunks all over Bakura when he went in to say _it. _

With that semi-happy thought, Marik approached the door with calm steps, pacing himself so that his stomach could have another second to unwind a bit. The glinting knob was just as cold as ever, and Marik slung the door open, deciding not to give it a chance to creak or make any noise.

Unfortunately, his plan failed when the door slammed into the wall, as result of him not holding the knob. He jumped at the loud _slam_, but Bakura didn't move a millimeter.

Noticing this fact made Marik blush.

"Why are you trying to break my door?" Bakura asked in monotone, as if he didn't really care whether or not he received an answer.

"I-I wasn't, actually." Marik stepped under the threshold and shut the door, being more silent than he would have thought possible, as if that made up for his unnaturally noisy entrance.

"Then don't slam it like that. Honestly, we learn how to work _doors_ hen we're toddlers."

Marik couldn't help but notice how extra-bitchy Bakura sounded today.

"Who pissed in your Froot Loops this morning?" Marik raised an eyebrow. No, no! If Bakura was angry already, he was more likely to reject Marik.

Bakura glared at him for a moment, before demanding, "Come here."

Marik felt his throat go dry. It would be much easier to tell Bakura if he was out of kicking range.

After a moment of nothing happening, Bakura rolled his eyes. "Do we really have to go over this again?"

Marik averted his eyes and sat carefully on the bed by Bakura's knees. Surely, that was close enough to avoid anything as embarrassing as the day before, when Marik had almost found Bakura's mouth on his.

Though, maybe today, Marik was ready for something like that. He sure wouldn't reject it, if the opportunity were to rise…

Marik felt himself doubt strongly that anything like that would be happening anytime soon with _anyone_, much less _Bakura_.

"Well?" Bakura's voice brought Marik from his thoughts.

Marik's confused face made Bakura scowl.

"Start explaining yourself. You know what I want. I don't feel like messing around today. I have a headache like you wouldn't believe." Bakura closed his eyes and let his head make a large depression in his pillow.

Marik, on impulse, almost said something dumb like, "_So that's why you're so moody today"_ but, thankfully, he stopped himself.

Now was his chance. Bakura was asking for an explanation. Why not give him the truth this time? The actual honest-to-God truth? Bakura, though he might hate it, did have at least one person in the world who loved him more than they loved them self. Unconditionally and irreversibly.

Marik blushed at the thought, and Bakura peeked at him through one eye. "I knew it."

"Knew what?" Marik feared that Bakura had finally read his emotions, but he tried his best to hide it by asking another question. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently.

And then Bakura started laughing, catching Marik off guard.

"I knew it." He repeated breathlessly.

Marik didn't bother to repeat his question. He let Bakura laugh until he squeezed his eyes shut, moaning in agony, due to his aforementioned headache.

Marik wished he could have helped relieve Bakura's pain, but unfortunately, he didn't usually carry a bottle of Tylenol on his person.

"Are you okay, Bakura?" Marik asked hesitantly. Maybe Bakura was having some sort of breakdown. Or maybe he was sick! Oh, no…if Bakura was sick, what would Marik do? He couldn't just watch Bakura writhe in pain as…as a brain tumor sucked away his life! You had headaches when you were developing brain tumors, right?

It was then that Marik wished he'd actually paid attention in science class when his teacher was spouting all of that gross biology crap.

He thought for a moment.

You learned about diseases in biology class, right?

Bakura growled before Marik could ponder his own question. "I knew it. How could I be so _stupid_?"

"You're not…" Marik stopped himself from finishing his sentence. Bakura wasn't listening, so it would be a waste of his own breath. It didn't even really seem like Bakura knew he was speaking aloud.

After a moment of Marik's imagination running wild as Bakura muttered random things to himself, something very surprising happened.

Bakura sneezed.

It was so odd, Marik couldn't help but burst into laughter. He had never heard Bakura sneeze before.

_He has a sweet sneeze, _Marik noted, not bothering to question his own word choice.

"Bless you." Marik said after he was finished with his hysterics.

Bakura sniffled in response.

When Marik realized that the room was silent, he began to feel awkward and said, "So, what did you "know"?"

Bakura blinked groggily, before sighing. "That you're afraid of me. I can see it in your eyes."

Marik frowned. "You're still on that nonsense?"

"More like, I'm _back _to that theorem." Bakura's brow furrowed in thought. "I had rejected it, but all evidence points to that."

Marik chuckled. Bakura sounded so sure, when, in reality, his guess was as wrong as it gets. "Tell me, Bakura. If I were afraid of you, would I be willingly coming to see you every day? Would I not have just run away when you asked me to come closer?"

Bakura didn't answer. He hated being treated like a child, and Marik was doing just that by trying to make him realize his own faulty logic through pointless questions.

Marik took a deep breath, realizing that Bakura wasn't going to answer. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Oh, aren't you?"

Marik shook his head, his gaze hard and unreadable as he started into Bakura's eyes. His headache seemed to have calmed down a bit, Marik noticed, judging by the way Bakura was able to open his eyes without groaning.

"Prove it."

Marik's heart skipped a beat. He wanted proof. Figures. How could he sincerely, honestly say what he was feeling without actually _saying _it?

It would be so much simpler (and a hell of a lot easier, not to mention) if Bakura would accept "I love you" as proof, but Marik was sure that wouldn't cut it. So he did the first thing that came to his mind. He leaned closer to Bakura and gently, with the care of a mother rubbing lotion on her child's soft belly, brushed his lips against Bakura's.

It was a brief connection, but it was a connection nonetheless, and Marik's heart sped up, his face overheating instantly.

After he pulled away and saw how Bakura's merciless eyes studied his features, Marik closed his eyes and buried his face into the crook of Bakura's right arm, which was, due to the straightjacket, strapped to his chest.

He felt himself, much to his _disgust_, start to tear up. He'd definitely not seen anything resembling emotion in Bakura's eyes, which could not have been a good sign.

"Now do you see why I've been acting different, you big idiot?" Marik spat into Bakura's arm. He knew the insult was childish and far from truthful (Bakura was probably the most intelligent person he knew), but he still couldn't hold it in.

Bakura didn't say anything for a moment, which worried Marik, until he heard the noise:

_Auuch-choo! _

This lightened the mood considerably, and Marik lifted his head to peek at the older boy.

He had turned his head to the left to avoid aiming the bacteria at Marik's blonde cranium, and then decided that that was a nice position and let his head fall back to the pillow, staring at the door.

"Bless you…" Marik whispered.

Bakura ignored him, not bothering to try and meet Marik's eyes again. "Thinking back on it, yes. I do understand."

Marik frowned. He would have really preferred something like, "Oh, it's okay, Marik. You see, I love you, too, but have been denying my feelings as well". Of course, that was too outlandish, a hope beyond all hopes.

At least he didn't seem mad, though. He had a few good reasons to be angry.

(1) Marik had kissed him.

2) Marik had kissed him.

3) Marik had kissed him.)

The thought made Marik's stomach tangle up again. He had kissed Bakura. On the mouth. With his lips.

Their lips had touched, and it wasn't a dream.

Marik had to think things like this over and over just to be able to accept the outrageous concept.

"So you're not angry?" Marik asked, his tone hopeful. He pulled his feet, which had stayed on the floor, up on the bed. Laying half on/half off the bed was really uncomfortable, and Bakura was surprisingly warm…

Bakura raised an eyebrow at him, weakly lifting his head to get a better look at the broad Egyptian boy who seemed to be trying to _crawl on top of him_.

"Why would I be angry?"

Marik's shoulders slumped, and he felt himself blush. "Because…because I love you."

"What's your point?" Bakura seemed to be growing impatient.

"You should be angry with me, because you don't want people to love you, right?" Marik voiced the thought that had been haunting him for a while.

Bakura scoffed. "I don't care."

"O-Oh." Marik couldn't hide his disappointment, try as he might. He averted his eyes to the floor. "Is it okay if I love you?"

"I don't care. Do you not know the meaning of those words?"

"I do, but I really wish you'd stop saying them." Marik hated how weak he sounded. He hated it more than was able to be vocalized.

He heard Bakura chuckle, dark and sour. "I don't care."

_Why did I have to fall for such an ass?_ Marik thought. Bakura, seemingly reading his mind, started laughing.

"You're so easy to manipulate." He said.

"You're twisted, Bakura." Marik wasn't sure if this meant that Bakura was just being difficult, and he really _did _care at least a little bit, but it was certainly better than hearing those three words again.

"I know. Why else would I be here?" Bakura looked around the room for emphasis. After a moment, he sighed. "So you really do…You weren't kidding?"

Marik shook his head, blushing deeply. "I didn't mean to, I promise."

Bakura grinned. "You do realize that that kiss was probably the most insane thing you will ever do in your life, right? You could go jump off a bridge using dental floss as a bungee, and it still wouldn't beat kissing someone of the same gender in his very own room in a mental hospital." Bakura cleared his throat before adding, "When the person just happens to have caught a slight case of common cold."

Marik was shocked silent for a moment at the small bit of information. That would explain Bakura's sneezing. And his headache. And probably why he felt so warm, too.

Experimentally, Marik pressed a hand to Bakura's forehead. He winced when the heat that definitely wasn't the uniform human body temperature burned against Marik's cold hand.

"You have a fever." Marik notified him. "Should I go get Sierra?"

"No." By the way Bakura's eyebrows knitted together, the fever was a new development. "She'll…"

When he didn't finish, Marik pursed his lips. "She'll what? Bring you some medicine to take away your pain? That sounds good to me."

Bakura smirked, flashing his pointed teeth in a perfectly creepy way. "She'll make you leave."

Marik felt his face heat up. "That's not as important as your health."

"Maybe. But if you leave now, my schedule will be off. You always stay for at least…" Bakura glanced up at the ceiling in thought. "fifteen more minutes."

Marik knew full well that Bakura was making an excuse to get him to stay. The bastard was just too big-headed to admit it, Marik noted with a grin.

"So this is really okay? Seriously this time." Marik eyed Bakura, letting his hope show in his eyes and the way he bit down on his bottom lip.

Bakura sighed, as if dealing with an annoying child. Marik knew he was probably just trying to get under his skin. "I guess it could be. But you're only going to wound up hurt, you know."

Marik nodded. He was very well aware of his community service hours counting down to his last day working at the Institution. "I know. But I think it will be worth it in the end."

Bakura smirked. "Oh, really? Just what are you planning, Marik Ishtar?"

Marik's eyes widened, as well as his smile. "That's the first time you've ever called me by my name, you know." He said, ignoring Bakura's question. He wanted to surprise Bakura (as well as himself) with what the coming days brought.

"Is it?" Bakura feigned deep thought. "I hadn't noticed."

Marik chuckled, shaking his head. His stomach had unknotted, and now his mind was dizzy with happiness. Bakura accepted his feelings. There was nothing else in the world that Marik had wanted more, and now Bakura's acceptance was _his_.

He noticed Bakura take in a slow breath and moved to dodge his coming sneeze.

_Auuuch-choo!_

"Bless you." Marik grinned, ending the phrase by leaning in and kissing Bakura for the second time that day. This time it was longer, and definitely more intimate, as Bakura had decided "_what the hell?" _and kissed back, which Marik found both thrilling and pleasing.

Bakura's acceptance was _his_, finally.

Bakura was _his_, and, as far as Marik was concerned, no one would ever change that, no matter the distance between them.

Bakura was _his_, and his alone, the statement proven fact by their intimate position.

..

_The Institution, the security room…_

Sierra had been drinking crisp water from a tall, clear glass when their lips made the first connection. At first, she had been convinced that it was a glitch in the camera, or something other than what she was seeing, but, after spitting out a mouthful of water all over the unfortunate security guard who just happened to be standing in front of her, engaging her in a lovely conversation about his new puppy, and after screaming a swear word or three, Sierra was eventually convinced that her two young friends had _kissed_ full on the lips.

Oh, hell, was she glad that Doc hadn't seen that. He would have marched down there for sure, dragging Marik out of the room by the scruff of his neck, lecturing him on how unprofessional it was for workers to _make out_ with patients.

And that's when the older man came into the room, his hands shoved deep into his coat pocket. He was obviously tired after a long day at work, and definitely ready to go home.

At least, that's what Sierra told herself.

"Hey, honey. Ready to go?" She asked with her best _I'm not hiding anything, what are you talking about? _smile. She moved her torso so that it would block the screen that showed Bakura's room from the angle Doc was at.

"No. Let's wait until Marik leaves at least."

"Ohhhh." She winked at the security guard, who had started to look rather uncomfortable. "Could we get some privacy, please?"

She figured that anything sexual would surely distract Doc from the screen.

He shook his head, letting out a yawn. "Not tonight. Besides, we still have to check on Bakura before we go. He wasn't feeling well this morning, remember?"

She took an inconspicuous glance back at the screen. Marik was lying literally _on top _of Bakura, grinning like a fool.

Sierra cursed under her breath. Two hormonal teenage boys lying on a bed together. Two hormonal teenage boys that, apparently, were gay.

For each other.

Sierra could sense a horrible ending coming towards her at the speed of…something incredibly fast.

"Hey, how about you go wait in the car? You look tired. I'll take care of Bakura." Sierra offered, silently celebrating her genius idea.

Nevertheless, Doc turned it down with an eyebrow raise. "What are you hiding…?"

"Nothing. What would make you think I was—"

Doc took a step toward her, so she quickly responded by gasping and pointing behind him. When he looked back, she ran toward him and cupped her hands over his eyes.

"What are you doing?" He asked. "What's going on?"

His mind put two and two together.

"What are they up to?" He asked, referring to the ill-behaved teens that were currently (Sierra spared a glance back at the screen) talking, Marik laughing and Bakura smirking in a way that Sierra interpreted as "seductive" in her short look.

"Nothing. Just talking, like normal."

"Then why can't I see for myself?" Doc was smirking playfully, unaware of Sierra's concern. If she allowed the doctor to see the two boys kissing, (which they were bound to do again, she was sure) he would definitely become angry and make sure Marik never passed through that door again.

And then what would happen to Bakura? What would happen to Marik?

"Because…" she tried to think of a good excuse. "Do you not trust me?"

"Not when you're acting so suspicious." He said, before swiftly shaking her hand away from his face and turning around, hastily getting a good look at the screen.

The sight that he was greeted with was probably not the luckiest.

The two boys, Marik Ishtar, the temporary worker, and Bakura, the long-time patient, were heavily engrossed in tangling their legs together as chaotically as they could, their lips not even breaking contact for a half-second.

His two teenaged charges were swapping spit just a few rooms down the hall, as Doc helplessly stared, mouth agape in surprise, at a dumb screen that must have been playing tricks on his eyes.

**A/N:**

**1: This isn't really supposed to make Marik sound crazy, believe it or not. I think everyone has a rational side, but most people see it as a conscience, or, for people who let it control them, "that voice in my head". **

**Marik's gonna get siiiick~!**

**This chapter was almost five thousand words. That pretty long for me. I guess it sort of had to be long, though, since it's probably the most important chapter in the story. Wait, I make it sound like length is a bad thing. Which brings me to this: This story hit 18 reviews last chapter. That may not seem like a lot to some of you, but that's the most reviews I've ever gotten for just one chapter of a story. **


	16. Boyfriend

**A/N: Karma sucks. Remember how I gave Bakura a cold? Yeah. Apparently, he didn't like that too much. I have a cold. But you know what? That just means more forced downtime to write. Moihaha, so Bakura's plan of revenge has backfired! **

**For Fujimori Chikaru****: Yes, I am actually planning three more stories, one being Thiefshipping, which is, I'm sure, what you meant. It's a high school fic, but it's still in planning mode and needs a whole lot of work, so that's about all I can tell you! I'll try to put more details in the last chapter of this fic.**

**Disclaimer: If I were Takahashi, I would have shot down 4KidsTV for screwing YGO up so bad…shot them down with my invisible gun. In other words: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!.**

**.**

Doc felt his eye twitch, though he wasn't sure whether it was out of anger or trauma. He whispered something under his breath, but even he didn't know what it was.

"Julius?" He felt Sierra put a hand on his shoulder. "It's not that big a deal. Kids are sexually curious. Let them be kids."

"Bakura isn't a kid. He's eighteen. He should know better than to…to…" Doc couldn't find the right words to end his sentence. His voice was bitterly calm as he watched the two boys cling to each other. Doc was pretty sure that, had there been sound, he would have heard Marik giggling, judging by the way the corner of the younger boy's mouth was open in a half-grin.

"Oh, so what you're saying is, since he's legally independent, he's not allowed to experiment? Think about your college days…" Sierra tightened her grip on the tall, aged man.

Doc didn't reply, but his wife let out a sigh of relief when she felt his muscles relax under her grip. He turned away from the screen.

"Let's go."

"What about Bakura? He's due for more medicine."

Doc raised an eyebrow. "Are _you _going to sit here and watch them until they finish…whatever they're planning on doing?"

Sierra rolled her eyes. "They're not dumb. I don't think they'll go any further. Let's just wait it out."

Doc was silent as he made his way for the door.

"You don't want Bakura to feel miserable all night, do you?" Sierra knew this would trigger _something._

She was right. The doctor stopped, his hand on the doorknob. "He doesn't look too miserable."

She sighed. "You know what I mean."

Wordlessly, he leaned against the wall. Sierra smiled at him. He did have a soft side, hidden somewhere in his confusing personality of witty sarcasm that covered up his true motives and thoughts.

You just had to pry it out of him.

..

_The next day…_

"_Auu-choo!"_

Marik groaned, his head throbbing in a cruel aftermath of his involuntary sneeze. Odion, who was sitting on the arm of the couch to look over Marik, chuckled.

"This is completely self-inflicted." He pointed out.

Marik would have nodded, had his head not been screaming in pain. "I know."

He waited a moment, letting a large grin break across his lips. "But it's well worth it."

Odion's hands flew to his ears, cupping them tightly. "I don't want to hear about it."

Marik laughed, groaning after his fit was over and his head responded with a white stabbing. The second he'd burst through the door of his current residence the night before, he'd broken into joyous, thrilled tears and told Odion everything that had happened between him and Bakura…which was probably a lot more than he wanted to hear.

Odion rolled his eyes, releasing his ears. "I wasn't kidding."

"I know. I was just excited last night. Can you blame me? Some people wait their whole lives for something like this." Marik sighed pensively. He couldn't help but feel like he was letting himself fall in too deep, but there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

"Ah, yes. It's everyone's dream to fall in love with someone they'll never be able to have completely."

"Hey, it's true, you know. Be sarcastic if you want, but humans do tend to want what they can't have." Marik nodded, insisting. Pain shot up his spine with the action. "I think it's time for me to take more pills."

"You still have an hour until the box says to take more." Odion said, nodding at the rectangular box sitting on the coffee table. Inside, it had a small bottle of pills designed to decrease cold symptoms.

"Screw the box. My head hurts because I'm so congested. My throat feels like I tried to swallow a freaking knife. Why isn't the medicine working?" Marik whined, closing his eyes as tight as they would go so as to block out the pain.

Odion chuckled. "Why are you complaining? You just said that being sick was worth it for what you got in return."

"Hah-hah." Marik spat bitterly, unable to think of a wittier comeback. He had stayed home from school, due to waking up with a dry, aching throat and a nose so congested, he had trouble speaking clearly. His older brother, being the loyal, caring man he was, had taken the day off work to take care of his little brother.

Marik pulled the heavy quilt that had been fighting his fever throughout the day over his head. He hugged his legs to his chest, shivering cold, even though he was sweating.

"This sucks." He whispered to himself. He wasn't talking about the cold. He wanted—_needed_—to see Bakura. That name had been nagging on the back of his mind all day, as it had been for weeks. But now it was stronger. The feeling of missing Bakura was no longer just a small candle, lighting up his thoughts. It was now a great flame, burning holes in his mind as he longed for his…

Boyfriend.

The thought heaved Marik from his over dramatics. He liked the sound of that. Boyfriend. Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend.

He beamed, thankful for the quilt that hid him from sight.

He really liked that thought.

.

Bakura grinded his teeth together in boredom.

What was a man supposed to do all day, locked in a dreadfully decorated room with nothing to do but play thumb war with himself?

Oh, wait.

Bakura smiled bitterly. The white-haired man had been getting bored even easier than usual these days. He figured it had something to do with being exposed to someone like Marik, who definitely wasn't boring.

It made him crave more excitement.

Bakura sighed, tracing the rectangle of the door on the other side of the room with his murky brown orbs. He wished someone would walk through that door to entertain him…

How abysmally bored he was!

He couldn't hold back a yawn, which inevitably ended in a coughing fit, a sniffle or two, and then a moan of agony.

He cursed his own body for not being stronger—strong enough to fight off such a weakling as common cold.

Bakura was still receiving symptoms, and he was sure Marik was probably one step behind him, in the early stages of headaches and sneezes.

The thought of the Egyptian teen made Bakura grin. Poor kid. Bakura could only imagine how terribly messed up in the head Marik must have been to let himself grow so close to a _murderer._ A murderer who just so happened to have the blood of his own family on his hands. A murderer who could promise no one—not even himself!—that he would never kill again.

A murderer who didn't _want _to promise anyone that he would never kill again, more like it.

Bakura chuckled. Still, no matter how crazy Marik's desires (and Bakura's own odd approval of said desires, not to mention) were, the pale boy had to admit that actually kissing someone, something he had never done before, had felt oddly pleasing**(1)**. Satisfying.

Addictive.

Especially the _whom _he had shared the gesture with. Bakura couldn't help but notice how deliciously devious he'd felt, his lips tracing over the neck of the younger boy—their bodies grinding together—even though he knew he was under surveillance, and he was probably going to hear about it nonstop once the doctor got a hold of the security tapes…

Bakura smirked. He probably should have told Marik from the beginning that his visits were no secret.

He couldn't figure out what had stopped him, but he knew he didn't want Marik to know. Maybe it was the ever-growing, selfish fear that the boy would stop coming to see him upon finding out that he was being watched.

After all, he knew the doctor did not approve of their meetings. Especially not after the day before…

Marik's delicate face flashed through Bakura's mind, eyes closed tight in a cheerful grin.

Bakura sighed, a disgusting tingle of (was that…affection?) spreading through his stomach. Affectionate was not a word commonly used to describe a person like Bakura, but he was definitely feeling something revoltingly close to it.

Could he really help it, though? Marik all but threw himself at Bakura.

Okay, that was a lie. More like, Bakura had forced him into revealing something he had been trying to keep to himself.

A creaking noise pulled Bakura from his thoughts.

The door.

Bakura's head snapped to the rectangular entrance, looking for his savior. He frowned when he saw it was the woman.

"Is it really that late already?" Bakura glanced out his window, grimacing when he noticed that it was still bright out—it was only around noon, maybe earlier.

Sierra shook her head. "No. I just wanted to talk to you, 'Kura."

Bakura smirked. "About yesterday."

His voice held no question.

She nodded, sitting at the foot of his bed. "What…" Gathering her thoughts, Sierra chewed away at her lip. "What happened?"

"We kissed." Bakura scowled at the unexpected knife-in-the-gut sensation that came with vocalizing those words.

"Yes, I noticed. But why?"

Poor woman. She looked so confused. At this realization, Bakura's mouth turned upward in a grin, his eyebrows slanted downward. "Because he wanted to."

"Surely, it wasn't all him, Bakura." Sierra's voice was kind, but she had a serious tone.

He chuckled darkly, the normally menacing action ruined when his nose started to run and he was forced to sniffle. "Of course not. I participated as well. If I hadn't we wouldn't have gone on that long."

He loved the way Sierra had come to look uncomfortable. There was something about making people feel antsy that Bakura thrived upon.

"But why?" Her eyes clearly showed that she was worried.

Bakura thought for a moment. Telling Sierra wouldn't really do much harm. It was the doctor he wanted to keep in the dark. Of course, there always was the possibility that she'd tell him…

He shrugged off the thought, sighing. It would at least keep him entertained for a while, to relay the story. "He told me he loves me." He admitted.

"O-Oh." She was obviously surprised. "That was unanticipated when this started out."

"I know. He told me he didn't mean to." Bakura raised an eyebrow, smirking widely. "I just don't see how he could feel like that towards someone like me."

"Don't ever say that." Bakura's eyes snapped to the woman. She looked…angry. Sincerely, truly, honestly mad at him.

"You're a great guy when you want to be, Bakura." Her jaw was set, and he knew her well enough to realize this meant she was going to get stubborn on the subject.

He decided to play with her a little. "Remember what I told you seven years ago about acting**(2)**? Must I explain the concept again?"

Her brows knitted together in frustration, her red lips puckered. Her voice had risen to an angry shout. "Don't even try to pretend you haven't grown up since then. You have and you know it!"

When Bakura was silent, for the first time in his life at a loss for words, Sierra continued. "I-I want you to be happy, Bakura. As happy as you can be locked up in here. And if Marik makes you happy, then I won't try to stop you two, and I'll do my best to make sure Doc doesn't interfere. I'll try and talk to him tonight, I promise."

She was no longer yelling. Her face had softened into a sad frown, her eyes glazed over in concern.

"I just want you to be happy…"

Bakura ran his tongue over the back of his teeth in thought. Why did this woman care so much for scum like him? The thought made him angry, for a reason he could not identify.

"Why?" He asked, voicing his thoughts.

"Why what?" She asked innocently.

"Why the hell do you care?" As much as he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to get angry and bark his words. His tone was calm, much the opposite of his emotions.

Instead of giving him a sappy, annoying answer like he'd expected, Sierra laughed.

"Stop laughing at me!" He hated not being in control of the conversation.

She didn't stop, instead covering her mouth in a poor attempt to hide it. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. But do you really have to ask? If so, you're not as smart as you make yourself out to be, 'Kura. Or maybe you're just socially inept."

Bakura let out a low growl. He knew she was just messing with him, but it still angered him to be insulted. "I am in no way incompetent. You all just suck at sending signals."

Okay, so that wasn't the _best _argument. And it certainly wasn't as mature as Bakura usually tried to keep his actions and words.

"Whatever you say. I've got to get back to work. I'll bring you some more cold medicine in a few hours." Sierra planted a kiss on his cheek, laughing merrily when he just scowled and fluttered his eyelids in anger.

Once the door was shut (more quietly and gentler than _Marik_ usually shut it, Bakura noticed) the young man was once again left to be consumed by his own boredom.

He let out a sigh, ending the action with a sniffle that seemed to echo in the empty room.

..

_Saturday morning…_

Marik couldn't help but grin the entire time he was at the Institution, even though his throat itched uncomfortably, his ears and head rang painfully with any sound louder than a whisper, his nose just wouldn't stop running (even though it had been so congested the day before, he couldn't even breathe correctly!) and every other possible irritation that came along with his self-inflicted cold. He would be seeing Bakura in but a few short hours…

Grinning. He was grinning like an idiot. The nurses were staring at him, whispering to each other as he passed by them in the hallways.

But he didn't mind. His only thoughts were on Bakura as he half-did his work.

That is, until he was approached by a none-too-happy doctor whose arms were crossed stiffly.

Nevertheless, Marik greeted him with a nod.

Doc didn't nod back. He went straight to the point. "You do realize that we have cameras in the rooms, right?"

It took Marik's mind a second to interpret what the doctor was saying. The inevitable blush heated up his cheeks, his grin falling. He tried to play calm. "No. I didn't know that. Thanks for the information."

He tried to walk off, but Doc's hand on his shoulder stopped him from taking even one step.

"I want to talk to you, Marik." His tone was demanding.

Much to his anger, he felt a lump form in his throat—an early threat of tears. He turned to the doctor, but did not look him in the eye.

"Can I…" He paused in his whisper so his voice wouldn't crack. "Can I at least say goodbye to him?"

"No."

His eyes snapped defiantly in the doctor's direction. How could he be so heartless?

"You're not going to say goodbye to him, because I'm…" Doc sighed, raking his hand through his hair. "Sierra and I talked last night. She…_We_ decided that we're not going to bother you, as long as you don't do anything stupid." He paused. "And I think you know what I mean by that."

Marik's mouth opened ins surprise, and it took him a moment to find words. "Do you mean _dangerous_ or _idiotic_? There is a difference."

"I mean, if you take my son's virginity, I will personally see to it that you are punished." Doc smiled pleasantly, so as to cover up the obvious threat.

Marik blinked innocently. "Who said I was thinking anything like that?"

"You don't have to—I was a sixteen-year-old boy once, you know." Doc didn't wink or grin or chuckle like he usually would when talking to someone. He was all too serious for playful gestures.

The doctor moved to continue his leisurely walk down the hall, but Marik caught his arm. When he turned to see what Marik wanted, Marik's eyes where knitted together, a small smile on his lips.

He took a breath, feeling heat rise to his face. "I know we're not always on great terms, but your approval means more to me than you'd think. Thank you."

Doc made a throaty noise, which Marik assumed was his _you're welcome, kid_. "Just remember not to do anything stupid."

And he left the white hall, shaking out of Marik's grip.

.

**A/N:**

**1: I think I slaughtered the English language in that sentence.**

**2: Sierra: "You're very sweet when you want to be."  
Bakura: "Yes, it's called acting. It's a way of manipulating helpless, unexpecting people."  
I know if I were reading this, I wouldn't remember some minor conversation from six chapters ago, so I hope this is helpful.**

**Bakura was so OOC in this chapter…**

**Okay, so this one was mainly filler. (Hooray character development…?) *dodges rotten fruits hurled at her from disappointed readers* **

**But I promise next chapter you'll get some of the reason you're reading this—YAOI!**


	17. Weak

**A/N: It's about time to wrap this story up. Just one or two more loose ends to tie (Marik's dad comes first!), then it'll be done. Oddly enough, I'm not sure how I feel about ending this, other than the nagging sensation in my mind that tells me I could have done **_**so much better**_**. I don't think I'll change anything, though, except for maybe one last revision when it's completed. I want to be able to look back on this one day and laugh at my early writing.**

**I probably should have worded the A/N at the end of the last chapter differently. I meant shounen-ai. Not yaoi. I realized my mistake after proofreading the chapter, but I ignored it, taking into consideration that "yaoi" on this Site (I don't know if any else has noticed this?) has basically become the same thing as shounen-ai, and no one would expect something I wouldn't give them. Then I read some reviews that made me realize my own idiocy for assuming something like that. I apologize!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own YGO.**

**Warning(s): Lime; abhorrently OOC Bakura. **

_**..**_

_Wednesday, week seven…_

Marik couldn't help but blush a deep scarlet when a hot tongue connected with his earlobe. He couldn't help but shudder in delight when the tongue turned into nibbling teeth. He couldn't help but hold his breath when teeth turned into lips that _oh, so gently _traced down his neck. And he couldn't help but let his instincts take over when the lips trailed _way too slowly_ back up to his mouth and his own connected with them—the outrageously soft, pale mouth of Bakura.

Had Marik been thinking clearly (had he not been completely absorbed by the pleasant way Bakura knew exactly how to satisfy him), he might have wondered about the older boy's motives (he might have realized that Bakura was being way too giving).

Of course, he wasn't thinking in his right mind, and so he didn't wonder. All he felt was _lust_—an entirely out-of-control emotion that sent his mind into a cloud of fog where the only thing he knew (the only thing he could feel) was ravenous, insatiable desire.

And that's when Bakura released his mouth, moving back down to his neck to nip and tease the skin until it bruised. Marik's instincts told him to do something, so he copied Bakura, smirking when the older shuddered under his warm lips.

After Marik had gotten bored of the area or skin he'd been busying himself with, he moved lower down Bakura's neck, leaving a kiss here and there.

Until his lips ran into the high collar of Bakura's straightjacket and an arrow of rage shot through the lust-cloud that fogged his mind.

"It's in my way…" He whispered, letting the words hang. Bakura would know what he was talking about, as Marik had taken a loose edge of the cloth between his front teeth and tugged on it gently.

"Then take it off." Bakura commanded, his voice sounding the same as it would have had Marik just been sitting beside him on the bed, intimate actions and desires aside.

"We'll get in trouble." Marik pointed out, dropping the fabric from his mouth to look Bakura in the eye.

Bakura just laughed, throwing his head back and almost banging it against the wall, considering their position. They were on the floor, deciding it to be more spacious than the bed, and Marik, somewhere in their little game, had found his way onto Bakura's lap, his arms wrapped around the elder's midsection to press their bodies close together.

Bakura cocked his head, eyes flashing dangerously. "Who cares?"

Marik had no reply, instead claiming Bakura's lips for a brief moment and then fumbling with the buckles and straps on Bakura's back.

His good sense was screaming at him to stop, if he wanted to keep up the slightly-less loathing way Doc was currently looking at his and Bakura's relationship, but instead of listening to it, he kept messing with the buckles until they were loose enough for him to undo altogether.

The change in Bakura came slow, and he sat dead-still as Marik unhurriedly pulled the jacket off him. At first, all Bakura did was stare at the wrinkled tan fabric that Marik had tossed aside. After a while, Marik grew worried and brought his hands up to Bakura's shoulders, squeezing lightly.

"Something wrong?"

Bakura didn't answer. He lifted his right hand, flexing the fingers experimentally. It was understandable, Marik thought, that he would feel uncomfortable with moving his arms after so long.

Marik was pulled from his thoughts when he felt Bakura's cold, shaking fingertips run down his cheek. He stayed still under the touch for a moment, until Bakura's hand stopped at his upper throat. He wrapped his icy, shuddering hand around it and Marik felt himself start to panic.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Even to Marik, his own words sounded a little too hysteric.

"Nothing." The white-haired, alabaster-skinned man purred, smirking in a way that made Marik's throat run dry. Much to Marik's horror, Bakura's hand tensed around his throat, like he was ready to cut off his oxygen supply and end his life. But he didn't. He pulled the hand away, chuckling at Marik's wide-eyed, confused expression.

"You scared me." Marik blinked before closing his mouth into a hard frown. "Stop laughing, now!"

Bakura ignored Marik's order, preferring to take it as a kind suggestion. Optional. "You're too trusting. I could have killed you right there, and you'd have been helpless to stop me."

Marik's eyebrow twitched in anger. "Well, excuse me for thinking I'm safe around my _friend_."

"It's the brutal truth, Marik. You can't trust anyone."

Marik's heart flipped at the use of his name. He was so used to Bakura calling him…what _had_ Bakura called him? He couldn't remember Bakura calling him by any name at all, really. Well, aside from the occasional "imbecile" or "fool", but that hardly counted.

"Maybe not, but one can hope to at least trust his…" Marik hesitated. "His, um…"

Bakura, amused, raised an eyebrow. "_His_…? His what? Please, continue."

Marik felt his face heat up, and he winced when Bakura reached up, this time with his other trembling, underused hand, to feel Marik's heated cheek, which only succeeded in deepening the blush. However, he refrained from pulling away.

He was still unsure about what Bakura wanted to be classified as. Boyfriend? Probably not. Arm candy? _Definitely_ not. Lover? Hell no.

"I—" Marik cut himself off to clear his throat. "That is, I was going to say…er, _'his boyfriend', _but, um, I don't think that—"

"Oh?" Bakura interrupted him, smirking as usual. "Is that what you call me?"

Marik hesitated. "Depends. Do you…want me to?"

Bakura let out a low chuckle, trailing his hand farther up the side of Marik's face until he was in reach of a strand of pale, yellow hair. He tugged at it playfully. "I honestly don't care whether you do or not."

Marik's brow creased, embarrassment forgotten. "Then why did you ask?"

Bakura's laughter became louder, but he didn't answer. He seemed to like leaving Marik in confusion.

After a moment of messing with the younger boy's hair, Bakura grew bored and ran his hand down Marik's body, stopping at his chest. Bakura stared at his own hand for a moment, before his eyes snapped up to Marik's, filled with a dangerous glint of mischief.

Marik knew him all too well not to be worried. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you thinking?"

Bakura's eyes flashed, and he leaned into Marik's neck. "Nothing." He purred, resting his chin on Marik's shoulder. His hand ran further down Marik's torso until the younger boy's spine grew unnaturally stiff.

"B-Bakura…" He fumbled, cursing himself when the word sounded more like he was egging the other on instead of reprimanding him.

Bakura found the edge of Marik's shirt and ran his cool hand under it. Marik shuddered when Bakura teasingly traced over the accents in his muscles with his two first fingers.

"Bakura." He sounded sterner this time, which he prided himself upon. Too bad Bakura didn't care what the tone of his voice was. He kept on nuzzling into Marik's neck, nipping at the warm flesh whenever he thought he could catch Marik by surprise.

It wasn't that Marik didn't _want_ to succumb to Bakura; to let Bakura do whatever the hell he wantedto him. No, that was far from the truth. It wasn't his promise to Doc, either. That promise, though it should have been the first thing on his mind when Bakura was sending him the signals that implied he wanted to do something more, was not what was bugging him.

It was his father.

Marik's breath caught when Bakura's right hand hovered around his waistline, the other busying itself under his shirt.

It felt good—amazing, even.

But it was wrong. _It was so wrong_. Marik's mind, though he tried to fight it off, was sending memories before his eyes. Memories of _pain _and _blood _and _his own father _touching him in much the way Bakura was.

He felt a lump form in his throat, and he tried to pull away from Bakura.

He didn't seem to notice.

"Bakura? Bakura, please…I know you hear me. I-I can't…" Marik couldn't finish his sentence. His bottom lip had begun to tremble from the pressure of unshed tears.

Thankfully, Bakura seemed to get the message that time. Though he didn't pull his lips away from Marik's neck, he did relax his hands to a comfortable, slightly more innocent position on Marik's hips. After a moment of silence, he said in a mocking tone, "What's wrong?"

Marik could _hear_ the smile in his voice. And it wasn't a sweet smile, but more amused. He was enjoying Marik's reluctance.

"I can't do this." Marik said simply, moving so that he was no longer in Bakura's lap. He stayed a safe distance from the older male on the floor, pulling his legs to his chest and refusing to meet the other's eye.

"Oh? Do what, exactly?" Bakura asked. Marik could tell he was just teasing him, trying to make him even more uncomfortable than he always was.

The Egyptian teen swallowed his own saliva, thankful that the lump in his throat had shrunken a little. He'd almost allowed himself to cry in front of Bakura, all because of some stupid memory…

After a second of hesitation, he had trouble finding the words to answer Bakura's question. "Er, I…I can't…you. I can't do _you_."

That wasn't the ideal thing he'd imagined his mind would come up with, but at least it got the point across.

Bakura didn't bother to hide his laughter. "And, may I ask, why not?"

The way he emphasized the sentence made Marik realize just how conceited the man he'd fallen for truly was. Of course, that thought was quickly overlapped by another memory, brought on by Bakura's question. This one depicted him, fists clenched in pain as he tried to block out everything that was happening—his father's chuckle, the sound of the beer bottle he'd been clasping crashing against the floor, forgotten in the old man's moment of ill-gotten pleasure, the pain, both emotional and physical, that was eating away at the last bit of Marik's frail link to sanity…

It was all coming back. The memories were all rushing back to his mind—the ones he'd tried so hard to block out. The ones he had refused to let his mind dwell on. The ones he wouldn't allow to rule his life.

"I just…I just can't. That should be all you need to know!" Marik couldn't keep the anger from his voice. He hated yelling at Bakura, but the horrible recollection of _that night _was definitely not lightening his mood any. He was angry, he was hurt, and he was _full of hatred._

He wanted revenge, and that was something he would only get once he built up the nerve to face his father again.

"There's something you're keeping from me." Bakura stated.

Marik's lip had begun to tremble again as another memory invaded his thoughts. He wanted to cry. He wanted to let it all out, like he had at Odion's place right after _that night_. Instead, though, since Bakura was keeping a close eye on him, he pulled his knees closer to his chest and began rocking himself with his toes. He figured the movement would help calm him.

It didn't.

When Bakura realized that Marik wasn't going to respond (instead preferring to look like a total loon in the Egyptian's current position), he raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay? You know, you're in a terribly ironic place to have a mental breakdown…"

Marik met Bakura's eyes: enraged violet to amused, rusty brown. He tried not to yell, he really did! But his next words refused to pass his lips in anything but a shout. "Just shut up, will you?"

Bakura blinked in surprise, before cocking his head to the side, looking much like a cat. (A cat: an artistic forever-symbol of evil, mischief and lust. How fitting.)

"No." He said, his tone not harsh or demanding as per usual. He was tempting Marik, playing a game with him. Marik knew that, and it only succeeded in testing his anger.

"Why are you so upset, anyway?"

Bakura really needed to learn how to tell when he'd gone too far.

"I'm not upset." Marik spat venom. The bile that had risen in his throat said otherwise, but Bakura didn't need to know about that.

"Aren't you? So, is this just some sort of irrational mood swing?" Bakura asked, a hint of nasty sarcasm threatening his tone.

Marik tore his eyes from the tile to meet Bakura's, and he knew just by the surprised eyebrow raise Bakura shot at him that the tears had begun to spill. He cursed himself silently. He was so weak! How could he allow himself to cry in front of Bakura? A feeling of self-loathing wrenched its way into his gut. Why was he so weak!

"You'll just laugh at me if I tell you!" Marik accused, his lip trembling. His voice had cracked on _laugh_, and that sent a tremor of rage down his spine.

"How do you know that?" Bakura seemed a bit less derisive now that Marik had shown tears, and the Egyptian found some sort of consolation in this, knowing that Bakura wasn't as completely heartless as he'd thought.

Marik's answer came quick. "Because I know _you._"

Bakura smirked. "Please, Marik. I'm not so callous that I'd laugh at something that is clearly tormenting you." He thought for a moment. Seemingly deciding that he sounded too nice, he added, "But that doesn't mean I'll _comfort_ you, either."

The way his accent coiled around the word "comfort" made a shiver run down Marik's spine, despite the tears that were now freely falling down his cheeks. The tears he wished he'd been able to conceal.

Marik stopped his own train of thought before he could go into another angry mental-banter and increase the rate of his quickly-souring mood. Instead, he thought about the boy he was talking to. Why was he being so nice, all of a sudden? Was it the stupid tears that caused Bakura to pity him?

Another wave forced its way past his eyelids, even though he'd shut them tight to hold the tears in—an action obviously done in vain.

Maybe it was the comfort that Bakura refused to give him that was the exact thing he needed. Maybe if he told Bakura, he would decide that comforting someone wasn't too horrible a crime. Maybe if Bakura hugged him and rocked him in his arms, things would be all better. Maybe if he didn't try to hold the pain in any longer, it would eventually stop hurting altogether.

"Maybe" was the key word in every one of those sentences.

There was nothing Bakura could do about it, anyway. And any small comforts Bakura could offer were automatically denied Marik, for the white-haired boy's pride was too large to sink so low as to feel emotions such as "pity"—or, at least, to _show _emotions such as pity.

"Marik?" Bakura snapped Marik from his thoughts. "You do realize you've been glaring at me for almost a full three minutes now, right?"

Marik immediately softened the look he hadn't realized he'd been giving the older male. Had Bakura really no idea of the internal war he'd turned into because of him? Because of just the simple action of being requested something more emotionally committing from a man he claimed to love? That commitment, by the way, being something Marik knew full well he'd have been more than willing to give, had he not been bound by such a horrible memory (and a nagging promise). Such a disgusting, excruciating memory that he just wanted to throw away.

Marik's jaw that he hadn't realized had been clenched slacked itself. "I'm sorry, Bakura. I shouldn't have gotten mad at you."

_Yes, I should have. He didn't stop when I was clearly uncomfortable with where he was taking that last…interaction._

He ignored the thought. He should have told Bakura straight-up that _relations_ had been forbidden, anyway. Forbidden by the doctor. Usually, the word "forbidden" only made the noun it was describing even more tempting, but Marik wasn't tempted in the least, be it because of his fear that such intimate actions would only corrupt his and Bakura's relationship, his _predicament_ with his father that gave him a _slight _fear of sex, or both.

He was leaning toward both.

But it didn't matter, really. Either way, it was fear that was stopping him and that made him weak.

It had felt like half an hour had passed in Marik's pondering state, when it reality it was only a few seconds. That's why he jumped when he heard Bakura's voice.

"Are you going to give me an explanation? You know how I detest being left in the dark." His voice sounded a bit miffed.

Marik's softened expression turned into something of a mix between a glare and a pout—an expression he was sure looked ridiculous.

When Bakura waited a few more moments to give Marik a chance to speak and nothing happened, he grew angrier. "You know how I drew that last confession out of you? I could do it again, if I so desired."

Marik was tempted to start yelling again, forgetting completely about his prior apology for just that. He held his temper, however, letting out a muttered, "You'll just make fun of me."

Bakura made a noise in his throat that Marik was sure was something of a growl, which made him scowl. (Though he was feeling a bit intimidated, he decided it best to hide it.)

"Maybe if you'd stop wallowing for a moment and tell me what is on your mind, I could give you some advice. I do know a little bit about pain, you know." Bakura returned the scowl, so as to take away his offer for…was that, comfort?

Marik's eyes widened slightly at the realization, before he averted them back to the floor. He may as well…

But that would be the first time he'd told anyone aside from Odion what had gone on that night! Was he really strong enough to do that? Well, to do it without bursting into hysteric tears?

He wouldn't know unless he tried.

"B-Bakura, I'm not exactly…" Marik hesitated, his eyes darting from the wall to the floor. "…a virgin."

Bakura was silent for a moment, before he started laughing. Quiet at first, but it soon grew into all-out hysterics. "That's what you've been all worked up about? A lot of people 'aren't exactly innocent', you know." He said between chuckles.

"No, I mean…It's not by my choice that I'm not a virgin." Marik whispered, unsure if Bakura would hear him over his own laughter. The laughter he'd _assured _Marik wouldn't come.

Fortunately, he did, and his laughter died immediately. He smirked, but Marik considered that expression just as bad as the horrid laughter. "Oh, I see. Who, may I ask, has stolen your precious purity?"

"Like you can't guess." Marik spat, still refusing to meet the other's eyes.

"Ah, I understand. Your father, correct? He's the only person I could think of that you'd assume I'd automatically suspect." Bakura raised an eyebrow, adding edge to his smirk.

Marik nodded once, but he was sure Bakura caught the gesture.

They were both silent for a moment, before Bakura let out a sigh. "Like I said when we first met, I refuse to kiss your wounds healed." He paused. "But I will, however, offer you some advice."

Marik looked up at the man he'd, not ten minutes ago, been cuddling up against, pressing their bodies together in a most inappropriate way for two young men. He knew there was a gleam of hope in his eyes. Hope that maybe Bakura might be able to help him—and, lord knows, help was something he craved when it came to his family issues.

"Face your fears." And those were the only words of guidance he offered.

..

**A/N: I'm just going to let you ponder the meaning of Bakura's words. I KNOW it can be misinterpreted in a few ways…**

**So sorry this chapter is a day or so late! I swear it just did not want me to write it! I spent almost two hours on just one part of their conversation, and I'm still not completely satisfied. A critique would be nice. If someone wants to point out a mistake I've made, feel free!**


	18. Cowardice

**A/N: This chapter is late due to writer's block. I sat at the keyboard for hours at a time trying to figure out what to write, but nothing came! Frustrating…**

**Warning: Violence/gore; Language; Unrealistic, boring bullcrap. You have been warned. (The violence/gore tag on the last chapter was actually meant for this one, if you noticed that. I fixed it, but I just wanted to clear up any confusion, if there was any.)**

**..**

Had Marik not been busying himself with a battle against the tears that still wanted to be released, he probably would have blushed or maybe burst into laughter at Bakura's "advice".

"_Face your fears," _he says. Hah! Had he no memory of the sequence of events that had led up to where the two young men were at that moment? (Which was, as a refresher, Marik bawling like a young child while Bakura just stuck his nose in the air, even though they both knew there was more than one way the older boy might have comforted his Egyptian visitor.)

In his state of mixed emotions, Marik was unsure of what to say. So he spat out the first intelligible thing his mind came up with: "What…?"

"What do you mean, _'what'_?" Bakura scowled, disliking how he had to explain himself. "I said _face your fears_. What's so hard to understand about that?"

Marik, having finished wiping away what he hoped to be the last of his tears, fluttered his eyelids at his companion. How was he so oblivious to Marik's emotions after all that? "The part where you're asking me to do something I just proved to you I couldn't."

"Don't be such a whining coward. Of course you could. He's only your father—huge jackass, or not. I don't think he'll kill you, honestly. It would be too much legal trouble." Bakura folded his arms. After a moment, his eyes narrowed in discomfort and he relaxed the limbs at his sides on the cool tile. They were still trembling from the sudden work out after a long-lasting rest, but Bakura didn't seem to mind.

Marik had to think about Bakura's words for a moment. "Wait, what are _you_ talking about?"

Bakura rolled his eyes in that lofty way that Marik had grown so fond of. "You growing a backbone and sticking up to your father. What else?"

Even though the situation (from Bakura's point of view) was in no way humorous, Marik actually chuckled. And you had to see this little show from _Bakura's _standpoint—In no less than ten minutes, Marik had admitted he'd been raped, cried a _freaking ocean_, appeared to have gone through some sort of mental revelation (Or maybe it had been a collapse?), and now the boy was laughing it up. Bakura would never show it, but he was actually confused, if not a bit miffed at his visitor's mood swings.

Marik took a moment from his mirth to glance at Bakura. Seeing the way his eyes narrowed in obvious impatience, he bit his lip to stop the laughter from pouring out.

"I-I'm sorry, Bakura. I just…" A loud laugh burst through Marik's defenses. "I thought you were telling me to get laid!"

At this, the white-haired man sighed. If he'd been more used to having free reign of his arms, he might have rubbed his forehead in frustration. "No. I'm trying to get you to see that it isn't right for your father to treat you as he does, so much so that you've been avoiding him. You need to do something about it instead of bellyaching to me."

Marik's brow creased at Bakura's words, all prior humor forgotten. He didn't know what to say. As always, Bakura had a pretty good point. He'd been cowering in fear of his own dad, hiding from his problems. He thought for a moment, until his rumination eventually led to what his father might do to him if Marik showed up on his doorstep after so long. He blocked out the images of more blood and fresh, peach-colored scars added to the collection on his ugly, mangled body.

He shuddered at the thoughts, closing his eyes tight. Before he could stop himself, his mouth spilled out the very words he'd been denying: "I'm afraid."

It was a whisper, and for that he was grateful. Maybe Bakura hadn't heard him…

"You should be." Damn. "From what I've heard, your dad sounds extremely violent. There's no telling what kind of torture he might put you through."

Marik wanted to glare at Bakura, maybe say something deliciously sarcastic, like, _"Thanks for the encouragement, honey_," but he didn't. He knew Bakura would just reply with something biting about how it's better to realize the truth sooner than later, else you might get caught up in something you can't escape.

(In this case: His dad's wrath.)

He could see where Bakura would be coming from with that argument, too. Be it pessimism or realism, he would mean that Marik shouldn't go into something like that expecting rainbows and smiles, or he'd be eaten alive.

Marik gasped in realization. Eyes wide, he stared at Bakura. "You're starting to rub off on me!"

Bakura smirked. "Am I? I hadn't noticed. You still seem like the same naïve kid I met all those weeks ago to me."

Marik noticed how his white-haired friend didn't seem to notice the abrupt change in conversation. He didn't say anything, though, because he was a bit relieved himself. Bakura's advice made sense, but it wasn't exactly comforting. (Translation: it wasn't the sugar-coated reassurance Odion would have given him.)

Instead, Marik decided to accept Bakura's offer for a light-hearted, friendly argument. "I'd take naïveté over being so mature I'm boring any day."

"Boring? Hah! That's not the impression you gave me when we first met and you wouldn't stop asking me questions. To me, it seemed like you were a bit _obsessed_." Bakura accented the last sentence with a cocky smirk.

Marik couldn't help but chuckle in agreement. "Maybe, but not near as obsessed as I am now." With the confession, he felt his face heat up just a tinge, which only made him chuckle again.

He loved the way joking around with Bakura enabled him to forget about his dad, even after such a depressing conversation. Maybe that was how he'd allowed himself to forget about _that disgusting night_ for so long. Bakura. It was ironic how comforting just being around him was—the boy who claimed he would never comfort anyone.

Bakura didn't reply, instead laughing along with his companion. Both soon fell silent, and Marik stood up.

"I've got to get you back into this." He said, using the toe of his shoe to poke the straightjacket that was still lying in a heap beside Bakura.

Bakura scowled, but didn't argue. He stood up to let Marik bind him. Marik, however, had a different idea. The only warning was a playful smirk, and then his arms were wrapped around Bakura's midsection in an embrace. Bakura squirmed uneasily, still uncomfortable with the concept of a "hug".

"Thanks for helping me. I feel a little better, and I know exactly what I'm going to do now." Marik squeezed Bakura tighter, muffling a chuckle when the older boy wriggled in protest.

Eventually, Marik did release Bakura and proceeded in fitting him back into the straightjacket. He fumbled clumsily with the unfamiliar buckles and straps in the back for a while before completing his task and dismissing himself.

.

The ugly mahogany the door. The moonlight reflecting off the bronze doorknob. The atrociously familiar scent of cigarette smoke and rotted beer finding its way to his nose, even though all the doors and windows were closed. The only light in the house was a dim blue-white flicker of the television in the living room.

Those were the first things Marik noticed about his dad's house. The sun was just beginning to drop over the horizon, so he would still be awake. Maybe a little tipsy, but awake nonetheless.

Marik eyed the doorknob for a moment before knocking on the door, as clear and confident as he could muster. It was only a second until he heard the heavy footsteps of his father, and his stomach started bubbling with nerves. He thought for a moment that maybe he should just run away…

And then the door opened.

His father had gained weight in his stomach. It was a little plumper than Marik remembered, and his shoulders were just a bit broader. His short beard was, as usual, untamed and greasy. One more thing Marik noticed right off the bat: his dad's eyes were a clear dark brown, not misty and distant like they would have been had he been inebriated.

"Hi, dad." Marik raised a hand in greeting, his confidence boosted now that he knew for sure his father wasn't totally hammered.

The older Ishtar didn't give him a salutation, instead moving from in front of the door to invite his only biological son into the house. Marik hesitated for a moment, but decided that it would be best to have the conversation he had in mind in private, rather than out in the open where anyone could easily overhear them.

So he (feeling much like a dumb baby mouse falling right into a snake's underground den) entered the exact house he'd dreaded ever seeing again, his father close behind.

Marik led the way to the living room (the television was on, but muted), taking a seat on the couch. His father chose to sit on the loveseat parallel to the couch, leaving a safe distance between the two. There was a thick silence as Marik's brain fumbled with the words he wanted to say so badly. He was afraid that if he spoke, he would grow angry and in turn, his dad would. That would mean horror, he was sure.

Anger was something he needed to avoid at all costs.

Before he was able to come up with something reasonable to say, his father spoke.

"Why did you come back here?"

His voice wasn't really harsh, but the words still sent pain shooting through Marik's heart. So he hadn't been missed, it seemed.

"I-I wanted to talk." Marik whispered. His hands were clenched over his kneecaps, his back straight as an arrow. He knew there was probably fear in his eyes, and he hated that.

"About?" The man sounded genuinely curious, but Marik knew better. He leaned back in the loveseat and crossed his arms.

"Like you don't know." Marik hissed. He couldn't hold back the anger in his voice. How could his dad be so nonchalant?

His dad harrumphed. "I thought you'd left for good, you know."

Marik was desperately struggling to conceal his rage. There was the man—sitting right in front of him!—who had tormented him, neglected him, _raped _him…

He wanted to cause his dad pain. It wasn't right for a man to treat his son so horribly, and Marik knew that. He always had. So why had he just accepted it instead of sticking up for himself?

Easy—he was a coward. A sniveling wimp.

_Anger is to be avoided. Don't lose control_, he commanded himself. That didn't help.

"I did leave for good." Marik assured his father. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm not leaving because I'm afraid of you…" _Liar. _"I'm leaving because I hate you and just being _near _you makes bile rise in my stomach."

_So much for avoiding wrath, _he told himself. And then, for good measure, he added, _masochistic_ _dumbass._

Only succeeding in angering Marik further, the older Ishtar laughed.

Marik growled, jumping up from his seat. His newly balled fists trembled at his sides. "Why the hell are you laughing?"

"You're deluded, kid. Why should I care what you think of me?" His dad spoke the words casually, as if each one wasn't like a bullet to Marik's heart. He knew he shouldn't care, but it hurt. It shouldn't have (why should he care if that man hated him?), but Marik knew he'd have preferred a physical beating to _that_.

He also knew that he was being a huge hypocrite in taking offense to his father's words when he'd said equally terrible things to _him_ not moments ago.

Marik felt his anger start to deter, much to his relief. There hadn't been any true violence yet, at least. That was the only possible light in the situation.

He fell back to the couch, head hanging. "You should care because I'm your son."

"Just because I brought you into the world doesn't mean I have to like you, you know. I could always make another just like you." He added the last part with an ugly, yellow smirk.

Just like him? Highly unlikely, as Marik was _truly_ one of a kind. The Egyptian teen met his father's eyes, and for the second time that evening, he was nauseatingly aware of how much hurt filled his own violet orbs.

"Why?"

The man scowled at his son. "Why what?"

"Why do you dislike me?" Marik asked, his voice low and raspy. "Did I do something to upset you?"

He sounded way too desperate for his liking, he decided as soon as the words left his mouth. But his dad didn't seem moved by his tone. In fact, he seemed much the opposite, Marik observed, as his dad stood up.

"You killed my wife and I was forced to raise you, Ishizu, and _that cur_ alone." Marik was pretty sure said "cur" was Odion.

His father continued. "And it's sickening how much you remind me of her—your mom, that is. You act just like her, in the way you succumb to my abuse like it's nothing. I can't stand it!" He took a step forward, but Marik didn't really notice. His mind was still on how his father had basically admitted to _hitting his mother_. The same mother that Odion used to tell him about—her compassion and her beauty and her generosity. Surely, a fine woman and an excellent wife. And now he was hearing these words from his father. He had hurt her, just like he did Marik and Odion.

That was unacceptable.

Marik balled his fist and stood up, readying himself to land a hard blow on the ugly face of his dad. That's when he felt the sharp sting on his cheek, and a loud snap reverberated through the room.

He'd been hit. Slapped across the face, even.

"You just accept every blow and never fight back. What the hell is wrong with you? You're being abused, and you just take it like a _coward_!"

There was that word again. He wasn't given time to dwell on it, though, because another slap landed on his cheek, this time harder and much louder.

"I can't stand it!" He repeated, hitting Marik again—his fist catching Marik's jaw. "I want you to fight back!"

Marik took a step back, but the couch was in his way. He fell backward into the worn out cushions, a small gasp of surprise parting his lips.

"Stop trying to run away! I can't believe you have my blood in your veins! You're so _weak_!"

Another familiar word. Marik's heart skipped a beat, and before he knew it, he was back on his feet, tossing a punch in the direction of his father. It landed, since his father had not been expecting such a quick response, and Marik found that the small part of his mind that thrived on revenge expanded a little bit. But it was still begging for satisfaction, another hit…

Marik felt his leg fall out of his control, flying upward in a fast movement. His foot dug deep into the stomach of his offender, emitting a loud gasp of pain.

His father doubled over, and Marik took his chance to escape, even though his brain was still screaming for a cruel vengeance. He tried to leave the room, to run out of the house and never return (that would be okay since he had had the courage to at least show up), but his father's voice stopped him.

"Damn kid…pathetic…"

Marik whipped around to face his defeated father, his features contorted in jagged rage. "Shut up! Stop talking down to me like I'm some piece of trash!"

The oldest Ishtar male smirked with his chapped lips and crooked eyebrows. "But you are."

Marik howled in fury, lashing out with his foot for the second time. However, he did not hit his father, instead leaving a nasty skid mark and a slight dent in the wall. He said harshly, "What's your problem with me, old man?"

"I already told you. You act too much like _her_, and it's driving me insane!" His dad climbed to his feet, and Marik's senses went into overdrive. He wasn't going to be defenseless when the inevitable attack came.

"So, for that you punish me? That doesn't make any sense!" Marik's eyebrow twitched, his tan face flushed in agitation. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were guilty about beating my mom, and my reminding you of her makes you feel w—"

A quick punch in the gut shut him up. Though he'd just been voicing a hunch, that one attack proved him right. His father was guilty. That was that. He felt guilty, so he took it out on his children. It actually made some sense, upon deeper thought, or maybe that was Marik's unstable side pitching in an idea…

He caught his father's fist after the man decided to throw another punch. He was actually quite slow, upon further observation.

"So it's true, then. Is that why you never hit Ishizu? Because she resembles Mom so much?" Marik had once caught his half-brother staring at Ishizu with a hint of a smile touching his lips, and Marik had asked why. He'd answered that it was amazing how much she resembled Mom, though their personalities were polar opposites.

"You wouldn't have been able to stand bringing up those memories again, so instead, you took your regret and self-loathing out on Odion and me." When his father was silent, his mouth open in shock, Marik smirked smugly. "I'm right aren't I? And you say _I'm _pathetic."

The last comment earned him a quick shove against the wall, to which his back reacted immediately in a dull throbbing. With the momentum, the back of his head hit the wall as well, and for a moment, his vision blurred and he feared that he might pass out.

Then the older Ishtar grabbed his by the shirt collar and lifted him up the wall, and Marik decided that passing out wouldn't be in his best interest. He struggled to keep his mind alert, not even blinking in terror that his eyes might glue themselves shut.

Marik fought and lashed out to get free of his dad's grasp, but his attempts were in vain.

"How _dare_ you speak to me like that! And you wonder why I despise you so much. You're ungrateful, selfish, pitiful, stupid…" His father rambled on in half-hearted insults, and Marik eventually grew bored of hearing his voice and tuned him out. It only took a moment of clean thought for him to realize that his knee was in the perfect area for a good blow to the chest…

So he jerked his leg up, whamming into his target viciously.

He started to realize that maybe that wasn't the best idea when his father let go of him, and his only support was gone. Marik crashed to the floor, landing on his foot with a nauseating snap. He didn't even have time to wonder what he'd broken before ragged pain shot up his leg and hung there, obviously unrelenting.

When Marik didn't stand up for what felt like half an hour, his dad seemed to catch on that something was wrong. He got up from his position of kneeling on the floor, clutching his chest, and neared Marik with a horrible sneer.

"Goddamn kid…"

Marik was genuinely scared. He'd been in similar situations before, whether it was with his father or some thug off the streets, he was used to fighting people in the worst conditions. But never before had he seen such a crazy look in his father's—or anyone's—eyes.

Bakura's words flashed through his head: _"I don't think he'll kill you. Too much legal trouble."_

He found himself doubting his white-haired friend for the first time, and fear crept its way through the muddy puddle his mind had been mashed into from his absolute rage and revolting desire for revenge.

A cackle rang through the room, but Marik didn't really hear it.

A weapon. He needed a weapon. His hands ran along the floor around him, in search of _something_. He did not want to die, not yet! His mind was so dominated by the insane urge to live on, that he almost missed the small, almost imperceptible sting in his left forefinger. He let his gaze run down his arm, and his eye caught something glinting from the white light of the television.

An old beer bottle, broken in half so that the neck of the bottle was pointed in his direction, the sharpened end of jagged glass facing outward.

Translation: his savior.

Marik, in his blurry stupor of pure instinct, didn't hesitate to grab the neck of the bottle like a handle, and switch it to his dominant (right) hand. He held the weapon out at his father, who didn't even seem to notice that Marik had found something that gave him the upper hand in the fight.

He was still wearing that creepy sneer, and his eyes were clouded and glazed, like they would be had he been drunk.

That's when reality hit Marik like the beating he was sure he was about to receive: his father was not drunk. He was entirely sober, yet he still had no problem with beating the crap out of his only son. Marik had always blamed the liquor, but maybe it was something deeper.

Like hatred, loathing.

Marik's mind bubbled in rage, blurring his vision so much so that he didn't even clearly perceive the next scene of the night, which he would be thankful for later on.

His dad lunged for him, and inescapably, fell to his own death when the broken bottle lunged itself through his shirt and deep into his stomach. The man's eyes immediately widened in shock, as if he had not anticipated the consequence of his actions, and his head lolled back as he let out an agonized scream, which pulled his body away from Marik. The bottle was yanked from his flesh, leaving a dazed Egyptian teen staring at the bleeding lump lying on the floor, staining the already-trashed carpet a deep crimson.

The only sound Marik heard for a very long time was a lone dog howling and barking, as its ears had apparently picked up on the racket next door.

..

**A/N: Wow, what a morbidly lackluster chapter. Though I must admit, it was kind of fun to write, gore and twisted tone included. I haven't stayed up so late writing since school started up again. I have to say, I feel a little bit more satisfied with this chapter than I thought I would, but I can't help but think it's missing something.**


	19. Bloodied Hands

**A/N: Another slower-than-normal update…It's disappointing, really. I miss summer vacation when I could update every day, for all the time I had. Now my time is occupied by schoolwork, and if it's not schoolwork, it's family activities, and if it's not that, it's one of those totally random "WTF" kind of situations that I don't even know how I got myself into (i.e. cleaning up an abandoned trailer down the road from my house with my neighbor and brother. Did I mention that the trailer's floors are almost entirely rotted through, and you can't take a step without wondering if you'll fall through and have a run-in with an extremely pissed off rat/possum/who the hell knows what?). **

**Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, and I would never even dream of claiming such.**

**..**

It didn't take long for the police to arrive, and Marik knew it must have been a neighbor who'd called emergency, probably unsettled by the silence in the usually noisy Ishtar household, even at such late hours in the night. Marik heard the sirens well before he heard the beating on the door, but some sick part of his mind that wasn't in shock knew, at the very first obnoxious siren ringing his ear, that they were headed toward his current location: his father's house.

The knocking was equally obnoxious—couldn't they give a murderer a little time to freely bathe in guilt before they locked him up?—but Marik wasn't given a chance to grow tired of it. He heard the door fly open, hitting the wall with a slam that might have made him jump, had he not already been in a state of pure shock.

Of course, the slamming was followed by drum-drumming of footsteps and it couldn't have been more than ten seconds, Marik's perceiving side thought, before two pairs of the drum-drumming turned into a sharp, staccato beat at the door about five meters to his right. He didn't look up, but he knew the invaders saw him, because he one of them gasped and stepped back.

He must have been new. Honestly, the sight wasn't all that bad, if you saw it from an outsider's point of view. Okay, so maybe seeing a bloodied teenager staring at an equally-if-not-more bloodied corpse with an eerily blank look in his eyes wasn't exactly a bunch of multicolored flowers in a Sunday morning bouquet, but it was definitely more pleasant than seeing it from the viewpoint someone acquainted with the situation:

Marik Ishtar, the bone-thin Egyptian boy, staring at the husky, crimson-stained bulge on the floor that just happened to be his dead father—the father he'd killed with his own inexperienced hands.

Clearly the more professional of the men (Marik assumed it was only two, judging by the amount of drum-drumming he'd heard when the invaders entered the room), one spoke in deep, throaty voice.

"Stand up and raise your hands to shoulder level."

Marik might have complied, had even the thought of getting up not sent his mind swirling in pain from his throbbing leg.

He'd just killed his father, intentional or not. (Technically, it hadn't exactly been all his doing, since his father had jumped him, therefore nailing himself in the stomach with razor-like tendrils of glass. Then again, Marik had had full intention of doing that himself, had an adequate threat to his life actually come…which it had. So either way, his dad probably would have ended up in the exact same position.)

Marik's calculating thoughts were soon interrupted by the man's gravelly baritone voice. He repeated his command once, and then waited for a response. When he didn't get one, he threatened to open fire.

He heard the promising click of a gun being prepared to blow something away.

Marik was pretty sure he sighed, but he didn't really know whether it was out of exasperation, exhaustion, or maybe relief that he was no longer alone in the crushing, consuming, _maddening _silence of his father's resting place.

And so he spoke. "I can't."

The man's response was immediate, almost so quick, Marik could have missed it behind the last syllable that had escaped his own mouth.

"And why not?"

He could just hear the man's thoughts: _If he says something stupid, I swear I'll kill him._

The man seemed like that type of guy. Too serious, but maybe for the better. After all, Marik should have been shot dead right there.

He'd killed his own father.

"I think I broke my ankle." Marik's voice was monotone as he spoke—which was a perfect representation of his feelings. His eyes were still locked on his dad's lifeless corpse, and for some reason, the lack of rise-and-fall in his chest area washed away any emotion inside him. Even guilt.

He heard the officer sigh, and the other man in the room (the newbie, Marik remembered) said something in an unnaturally high voice. Marik didn't catch it, but he did catch the tone:

Pleading. For him?

Marik could tell Deep-Voice was growing frustrated, but he could also tell that he wouldn't let it show through his professional demeanor. He growled something to Newbie, and the man entered his line of vision. But he didn't head for Marik—instead kneeling beside his father and leaning into what Marik assumed to be his torso (it was hard to tell in the state he was in, all bloody and crumpled and such).

Newbie lingered for a moment, before calling back to Deep-Voice, "No pulse. He's dead."

Marik heard a sigh, and then Deep-Voice radioed his colleagues, reporting his findings. He also told them to "stick to their duties just in case, because they could handle the kid."

There was a beep and a static response that Marik didn't hear before the man spoke again, this time to him. "Are you armed?"

Idiot. Marik could easily lie to him! Why would he ask something like that instead of just shooting him immobile and searching him?

Marik soon regretted those thoughts, realizing that that's exactly what Bakura would think. The guy seriously was changing him, and Marik found that kind of backwards. Shouldn't _he_ have changed _Bakura_, the misunderstood, psycho-murderer? Wasn't that how it always went in the movies?

Marik felt his mind buzz with frustration.

_Okay, think of this from _Marik's_ point of view—the old Marik who wasn't always cynical and overcritical, _he thought, forcing his mind to switch gears.

He realized immediately that the man probably saw how vulnerable he looked in his current position, which hadn't shifted since the…_incident._ His feet growing numb under his sitter, he pressed his back firmly against the wall, the bottle resting calmly in his lap where it had fallen straight from his father's abdomen. Marik thought for the first time that he was probably extremely lucky none of the glass had lodged itself through his skin-tight jeans, though he took that back when he saw a rip in the fabric on his upper thigh, a dark stain collecting around it.

It probably wasn't a deep cut, anyway.

"Only this broken bottle." Marik replied honestly after a second, picking the pseudo-weapon up by its slender neck and gently rolling it across the tiled floor.

Marik dragged his eyes upward for the first time, following the bottle across the floor, and then meeting Deep-Voice's eyes. It was still only half-lit in the room, the only source of light being the muted T.V. since the sun had gone down, so he didn't get a good look at the man, but enough to see that his face looked tired and aged, his lips set in a firm frown.

"Are you sure?" He asked, a hint of doubt in his voice.

Marik could have smirked. The man was still holding the gun up, and he assumed it was aimed for his leg—a perfect way to immobilize a maybe-unstable teen who might jump the police officer who was leaning over his most recent victim at any second.

Instead, he nodded. All his muscles refused to relax, which left him in a very uncomfortable state. Really, what he wanted to do was get up and run away—far away. But he couldn't do that, due to current circumstances.

"What's your name?" Was the next question, and Marik had already grown tired of hearing the man's voice.

He decided that if he cooperated, Deep-Voice would shut up sooner. "Marik Ishtar."

"What about him?" Marik saw Deep-Voice nod toward his father.

"That's my dad." Marik replied, the sentence so simple for such an outrageous situation.

Deep-Voice didn't let his shock show on his face, instead crinkling his eyebrows in disgust. "That's enough. Let's evacuate, and take this kid back to base. Simpson, call someone to take care of _him_." He said to Newbie, nodding at his father once again.

"Sir!" Replied Newbie (Marik preferred that name), pulling out some sort of hand-held device that Marik couldn't clearly make out in the dark room.

His attention was immediately brought back to Deep-Voice, though, as he'd pulled his radio out and called for the rest of the men to meet up at his location.

Like every bit of the night since the men had arrived, time moved way too fast and the other officers arrived shortly, dutifully lining up side-by-side in a row of four behind Deep-Voice, who was obviously the man in charge.

They shared a short discussion that Marik didn't really care enough about to listen in on, before Deep-Voice strode over to him, boldly kneeling down beside him and saying, "You're young, but you look pretty tough, so I'm going to guess this isn't your first time dealing with police, kid. That means you know the drill, right?"

Being honest with himself, that was his second-ever encounter with actual officers. Well, the first in which he'd actually given them a chance to speak to him, much less observe him up close. But he didn't voice this, instead nodding and letting his wrists be handcuffed together.

What happened next wasn't exactly Marik's favorite memory, as it included being patted down in a search for any other weapons (okay, so maybe Deep-Voice didn't _really _trust him, Marik realized, feeling actual budding respect for the man) and hoisted unceremoniously over the tall man's shoulder once determined clean.

Pain shot up his leg from the sudden movement, as well as a not-so-slight case of pins-and-needles from sitting on the limbs for so long. He was able to ignore it, though, as he stared at the floor moving swiftly beneath him.

Soon, he was outside, in the yard of his former dwelling. But instead of being carelessly tossed in the back of some leather-seated police car that probably smelled disgustingly like cheap "new car scent" air freshener you might buy at a discount do-it-yourself carwash, Deep-Voice spoke again, setting Marik down between his broad form and the passenger seat of the car.

"Look, kid." He paused to sigh, as if exhausted by the events of the night. "You're unarmed, handcuffed, and that look in your eye…"

Marik didn't get a decent chance to wonder, _"What look?"_ before Deep-Voice pinned him with a narrow-eyed mix between a scowl and glare.

"Get in the passenger's seat." He insisted. Marik wasn't too sure, because wasn't that, like, against the rules or something? **(1)**

"W-why?" His brow furrowed in confusion, and he felt himself grow uncomfortable under the officer's eyes.

"I have a son around your age, you know." Deep-Voice said after a moment. "There's got to be something …a valid reason you did what you did. Attention? Anger? Mental instability?"

Though that last one sounded pretty on the mark, Marik averted his gaze to a cluster of unruly crabgrass clawing its way through the ground, letting his bangs cover most of his face.

"Get in the car, kid."

He did.

.

The first few minutes of the ride were silent, and Deep-Voice was the first to speak.

"Where's your mother?"

Blunt and straightforward.

"Dead."

_I killed _her_, too._

"Do you have any older siblings?"

Marik wanted to hold his tongue. He knew that answering questions before speaking to an attorney could get him in some deep excrement, but something about the man—maybe his serious aura, or the way his deep voice rumbled through Marik's own chest in a comforting way—made Marik unable to ignore the questions. He was smart enough to discern which questions could be held against him in court and which ones couldn't, right?

"Two. My brother lives here in Domino, and my sister is somewhere off in Egypt."

That was basic information, anyway. Something they would have gotten from a simple fingerprint. That was a safe question.

He hoped.

"Egypt? That's pretty far away. What's she doing over there?" The man said.

Marik decided not to answer that one, partly because the question sounded too much like casual chit-chat, and he really didn't know what Ishizu was up to anyway. He'd never really asked.

After a moment of silence, in which the officer must have realized Marik wasn't going to reply, he decided to introduce himself. "My name's Raymond Brown, by the way. I've been in this line or work for almost twenty years now, and I can't count on all my fingers and toes how many cases just like you I see every month. Teenagers that lost their way and chose to follow the only path in sight, one of crime and eventual jail time."

Marik scowled. "I didn't 'lose my way.' I just got sick and tired of his…"

He cut himself off.

Though he probably thought Marik didn't notice, Brown slowed the car down a little to prolong their ride. He gave Marik a side glance, urging him to continue.

And of course, he didn't. Marik hated talking about his dad, much less how he let the old man treat him.

"You know, if you claim self-defense in court, you could get out of this deal unscathed. It really depends on who you tell the truth to." Brown said, eyes fixed on the yellow-lighted road.

"How did you…?" Marik blurted, before realizing that he really hadn't really been very subtle in his half-sentence. Any idiot could grasp where he was headed with his words, had they known the night's events.

Nevertheless, the elder policeman answered his question. "I've been dealing with troubled teens for twenty years now. You can't expect I hadn't learned a thing or two about how to recognize an average case of "my life would be so much better without him" in an abused kid in that time."

Marik was silent for a while.

"I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't mean to kill him. I just wanted to talk to him. Without the help of alcohol to send him into some weird bout of rage that he'd take out on me. I didn't want him to die." That last part was a lie. He couldn't even remember how many times he'd been curled up in a ball on the floor to block most of his vital areas, or huddled under his bed with Ishizu, listening to Odion's cries of agony but unable to do anything about it, and thought, _We would be a lot happier without this bastard spoon-feeding us misery every day_.

It was twisted, but true nonetheless. And at the moment he'd had the power to get rid of his dad, with that bottle in his hands, he'd felt a mix between relief and half-horror fill his heart, clawing its way past the pounding adrenaline in his veins and the panic blurring his vision.

He could have died, but instead he'd chosen to take the life of his own father.

Once again, painfully, grossly twisted, but true.

"I mean, I'd always wished he was gone, because I was tired of fearing him, and I was tired my brother suffering alongside my sister and me, but I'd never thought I'd be the one to…" Marik swallowed, feeling guilt gnawing at his insides. "When the opportunity came, when I picked up that bottle and knew I could end my own suffering as well as my brother's, I was ready to. I would have done it, I know I would have."

Even though Marik was really talking to himself more than the officer, the man cut in.

"What do you mean, "would have?" He asked, shooting Marik another curious side glance.

Marik took another pause, an opportunity to think. Why had he said that? He DID kill his father, after all. He met the officer's eyes for a brief second, seeing (Was it? No, couldn't have been!) some form of compassion in his dark brown eyes.

He was startled by how much that look resembled the look Odion used to give him when he found out about Marik doing something not exactly angelic, like that time he'd been caught smoking in middle school, or when he was suspended for beating up someone twice his size over something so petty, he couldn't even remember what it was.

Marik was quick to look away, but the damage had already been done, and by the time the silence had grown thicker than boiled blood, Marik had decided that telling the police officer the whole, true story couldn't be _too _dangerous.

So he spilled his guts, starting with the very first time he'd been arrested and sentenced to community service at a mental institution and ending with his father's very last breath.

..

**A/N:**

**1: Actually, it isn't, under the circumstances. Or so says my mom, and I hope to Hell she's right. She suggested this coming scene to me, and I had played with the idea of something like it earlier, so I decided "why not?" and went with her idea. (She used to write a little, and then she had my brother and me, hah.)**

**I'm not going to go into much more detail with his dad's death. I won't bore you with the legal shit or anything, so don't worry. Bakura will be back very soon, and with some interesting (I hope so, anyway) things to say about Marik's little slip-up. **

**I've had this typed up on my computer for a very long time, but I've been almost **_**afraid**_** to post it. I feel it's missing something really important, but I don't know what. I know I say this all the time, and the feeling usually passes within two days, but it hasn't this time, and I've read over it so many times, I think my eyes might start bleeding soon. **


	20. Forethought

**A/N: The need to update this story came to me in a bout of inspiration. I have nothing to say regarding my long absence, other than I'm terribly sorry for the delay. *bow, bow***

**I'd like to say, before you read, that there's a good chance you won't like what you see. I realize that this is a like it or hate it ending, and I really am hoping for the majority of you to pick the former, because I'm soso nervous about uploading this. :X  
****Either way, thanks for sticking with me!**

**Dedication: Rinna. Thank you for your help. =)**

**..**

It was ironic, really.

It was ironic that Marik had ended up back here, in the exact place he'd become so fond of—so much so to claim that it had changed his life. The pure white walls, the salty chemical smell, the cool, crisp sheets on the beds—even the obnoxiousness of Doc's laugh was welcomed with open arms and a goofy smile. Sierra's warm features made him want to hug her until her lungs popped, he was so glad to see her again.

.

"You're an idiot, simple as that. A downright insane, mentally-fucking-challenged, rash kid with some serious issues."

"I know." Marik smiled innocently at the white-haired tragedy that was his _lover_, in the crudest sense of the word.

Bakura smirked, cocking an eyebrow. "Although I must admit to being slightly, faintly, _just barely _less disappointed in you now. I never thought you had it in you to actually kill someone."

It was Marik's second day out of police containment, and he was glad that Doc and Sierra had made the decision to allow him to keep visiting Bakura, after several pitiful pleas from the Egyptian. But he was almost positive Bakura had had the final say, even if the pale boy would never admit to actually caring whether or not he ever saw Marik's tanned, eyeliner-stained face again.

Marik had just finished telling Bakura a firsthand account of his murderous actions, not leaving one detail out. He kept a straight face through the whole thing, but he honestly still felt extremely guilty over what he'd done. But that guilt would pass, he was sure of it.

Insane people don't feel guilt, and if the court had labeled him insane, then it must have been true. After all, he'd always suspected it. Sanity is a fragile thing, and it came as no surprise that his had been shattered without him even fully realizing it.

"Thanks, I think," Marik said, grinning and tilting his head to the side. It was rare that Bakura complimented him, but he could most certainly sense one when he heard it, even if it sounded faulty and sarcastic to the un-Bakura-trained ear.

There was a comfortable silence.

"So what will you do now?"

"Hmm?" Marik had let his mind drift. His body always felt warm and relaxed around Bakura—it was the coziest feeling in the world; better than running a feathered boa in between your fingers or diving into a kiddie-pool filled to the brim with cotton balls.

Bakura stayed quiet, indignant at the idea of having to repeat himself.

"Oh," Marik snapped out of his stupor. "I'm not sure I have much of a choice in that matter..."

Bakura opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by a knock on the door.

"Are you two nutcases done socializing yet?" came the playful voice of Doc. "It's lunch time already. You've been in there for hours, Marik."

Marik and Bakura exchanged glances. The latter chuckled darkly under his breath and called out, "Don't open the door. We're fully naked and engaging in blissful intercourse. Go away and let us continue."

Marik rolled his eyes and shook his head, smirking. "He's a liar. We're decent."

At this, the door opened to a narrow-eyed doctor, who looked fully ready to separate two horny teens from one another, naked or not.

Bakura may as well have laughed aloud, as the expression he gave was clearly very amused. "Honestly, do you really think I'm that cheap, doctor? I'm surprised at you." His tone was nothing short of snide.

Said doctor pointedly chose to ignore his long-time patient, his adopted son, and then turned to Marik. "You've got to go back to your room now, Marik. It's time to eat."

Though Marik wanted very badly to protest and ask if he could just stay for a little while longer, his stomach growled painfully at the thought of food. So he nodded, and attempted to stand up. This action only resulted in the same way it had since he'd first gotten his straightjacket fitted; he fell over.

Luckily enough, Bakura, who, ironically, had just gotten his removed on a trial basis, had quick reflexes. The next thing he knew, he was being held up, face inches from the cold tile, by the back strap of his straightjacket.

"Jesus, watch it. How the hell am I supposed to relax knowing you're a walking accident?" Bakura blurted, before he could stop himself.

Marik sort of very much _really_ wanted to comment on how that last thing sounded suspiciously caring, but he knew Bakura would throw one his trademark childish fits and become unnecessarily angry with him. So instead, the blonde almost-man steadied himself and stuck his tongue out at his friend. "It's hard to get used to this whole no-arms thing."

"Yeah, I know," Bakura said harshly. Marik knew the anger wasn't exactly directed at him, but more like Bakura was angry at himself for sounding so "weak," as he would say. "Just go eat before y—" _you starve to death,_ Bakura had almost said. Shit. He was starting to sound like a pansy. Why was it becoming so much harder for him to contain these ridiculous statements?

"…Before the doctor has a panic attack," he improvised after a rocky silence, which he tried to cover up by clearing his throat.

Doc raised an eyebrow at his son's lame cover-up, his lips twitching upward in a barely-contained smile. "Your stubbornness amazes me to no end," he deadpanned.

The white-haired adolescent responded by averting his eyes and crossing his arms into a more comfortable, familiar position.

Marik shifted his weight a bit, starting to grow uncomfortable now that Bakura was getting irritable. He just needed some time to cool down, and then he'd be back to normal. "Let's go, Doc. I'm hungry," he proposed, sending Bakura's pouting face one last glance.

The doctor let out a quiet chuckle, but nodded and held the door to Bakura's room open for the Domino Institution's newest patient, Marik Ishtar.

.

Of course it wasn't fate that had led Marik to his eventual committing. Of course not. If you thought that for one moment, you're a fool by Bakura's standards. By telling Marik to face his fears, Bakura was very much certain that the boy would go off and do something stupid, meaning he'd kill his father. And this, obviously, would either lead to prison or his being sent a mental hospital, and the only one of those in Domino was, in fact, the Domino Institution. He figured there was about a fifty-fifty chance of where Marik would be sent, had he been an adult. But more than likely, the judge was rational enough to see that Marik would be eaten alive in prison, being that he was so young, and this would greatly increase his chances of being committed to a mental hospital instead.

Bakura was willing to take the risk. He always got what he wanted in the end, no matter what. It was just how the world worked. Bakura got what he wanted, whenever he wanted it, and other people suffered for it. Not his problem, as long as he was happy.

Which he was. Marik wasn't going anywhere now, even if his community service time was almost up. Now he would be with Bakura as long as Bakura wanted, and if a time came where he grew tired of the boy (which he was pretty sure would not come, at this rate) it was a simple matter of asking the doctor not to allow Marik to see him anymore.

It was brilliant. _He _was brilliant. And it had been such an easy trick to pull, though that was pretty much a given.

Bakura always had been a great actor.

…

**A/N: And so ends my "tragic" story about selfish love. **

**And so begins the longest author's note you will ever see from me:**

**Okay, that may have been a bit confusing. What I'm trying to imply happened, for those of you who may not really get it at this point, is that the policeman from 19 heard through Marik's story, and he helped out with the lessening of his sentence, but he couldn't convince the judge to completely drop it. **

**It took me so freaking long to decide on how I wanted to end this. I have no idea why..I guess I really just got carried away with wanting it to be absolutely **_**perfect**_**. I don't know why it took me so long to realize that that wasn't going to happen, but it did and now here I am, ending this a chapter earlier than I'd planned. And yes, I remember promising some of you guys that this would have a happy ending, and I really thought it would at that time. But then Bakura showed me his evil side and revealed to me his ulterior motives of making the thing he wanted most his. And that's where this came from.**

**But seriously. About the whole "one chapter early" thing..I pretty much have had my heart set on ending this on 21 chapters, which was the length of my very first chaptered fanfiction ever completed back on the Artemis Fowl book series archive. And it also happens to be my lucky number (that and its cousin, Mr. 12). So, yeah. I'm pretty disappointed about that. I don't think I'm disappointed in the content of the story, though, and I seriously hope that no one else is either. **

**I hope I did a good enough job for you guys, even though this ending was definitely way abrupt. Oh, and I may post an epilogue, I'm not really sure (it depends on if I like the finished product or not). I really like the creepy ending I left here, but I was actually hoping to have a happier one. So if I do write an epilogue, it would be a snippet of Marik's new life, and the main scene would be Bakura and Odion's first meeting, just because I think that would be insanely fun to write. **

**Anyway, thank you for sticking around and waiting so very long for this chapter, even though it barely scrapes 1,300 words. I love you all to death. Thank you.**


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